


Eyes Open

by drtempledragon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Asexual Character, Bad Wolf Rose Tyler, Blood Loss, Character Study, Dream Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Missing Scene, Repressed Memories, Sharing a Bed, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 00:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18789403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drtempledragon/pseuds/drtempledragon
Summary: After the departure of Mickey, Rose continues her training under the Doctor’s supervision to learn how to fly the TARDIS, a sentient machine with telepathic links. But this training brings to the fore of Rose’s mind the events from long ago; of a time woman and machine were one. Rose comes to terms with the events of Bad Wolf, but for all her influence on the Doctor’s appearance she learns that some things never change.Originally posted on LiveJournal and archived on A Teaspoon and An Open Mind.





	1. When I Close My Eyes

Rose was having dreams. Flowing scenes of her Mother and Mickey finally letting her go and live her life with the Doctor. Rose was having nightmares. Broken images of Daleks and darkness, deafening melodies and blazing lights. Rose was not afraid of the dark, but she was terrified of the absent life and extinguished hope that shadowed her subconscious.

Ever since she had made progress with her meditation to _feel_ the TARDIS humming, to learn how to fly her, the dreams had started to come. At first she dismissed them; Daleks scared even the Doctor, yet she thought them all to be dead. Then she thought they were premonitions, but the Doctor didn't sense anything malevolent coming. Rose had never told the Doctor what she saw at night; it seemed silly, childish almost. She dismissed them again as just dreams - what intuition could she really have? But they felt so real.

The cold sweat that clung to her skin, however, was very real and it came in the burning aftermath of images that woke her, shaking and afraid. She gulped in the cool air of her room and loosened her grip on the bed sheets, her fingers aching with tension. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of her bedroom and her pulse calmed in her chest.

As she blinked away the fatigue, a Dalek shot at her. Reflexively she threw a hand up to shield herself. She cautiously opened her eyes again to the nothingness of her room. Each flutter of lashes took her back to an audience of Daleks backed by deep blue. This wasn't the cold metal of the Dalek fleet ships. This was... the Game Station. 

The Doctor lay prone on the floor. Rose winced at the pain in her temple but managed to keep her eyes open. Her fingers soothed her scalp as she ran a hand through her hair to clear her face. It had to be real, how else could she taste the metallic tang of blood or smell the stench of death? These had to be the memories that she'd never been able to recall, buried deep so long ago.

The night the Doctor sent her home. The day the Doctor changed his face.

She got out of bed, resolved to find out what exactly had happened in between.

***

The Doctor was on the opposite side of the time rotor as Rose entered the control room. In the twilight she manoeuvred her way to the chair before he even noticed her. He graced her with a warm smile before turning his attention back to the console; it wasn't unusual for Rose to come and watch him work at night. Though most times she curled up in the jump seat or at least sat down, tonight she hovered by the chairs instead. He looked up again and could see questions in her eyes.

“I've been having dreams,” Rose began. The Doctor gave her a small, lopsided grin and carried on working. “Nightmares, really bad ones,” her voice lost conviction; the Doctor was listening but most of his concentration was on the TARDIS. She touched the console and felt a compassionate melody thrum through her palm; it was like in her dreams and it strengthened her. “I've been having memories of the Game Station with Daleks on board and how you looked before, before -” the words died. She had his full attention now, yet his expression was still unreadable.

“How long have you been having these ‘dreams’?” he asked seriously, and Rose let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She was relieved that the Doctor believed her at least.

“Since we've been doing that karma meditation,” the Doctor hid his grin, that wasn't the proper term but didn't see the point in correcting her. “Now I can feel the TARDIS,” she clarified and played her fingers above the console. “But I don't remember properly. It’s broken pictures.”

The Doctor stroked his hand down the panel in front of him. The realization of the influence was sharp and clear; the turquoise light of the rotor flickered across his face and he looked resigned to telling her.

“I can't sleep,” she tried to make light of it.

“We can't have that now, can we?” the Doctor followed, adding a lightness to his own tone. He rolled down his shirt sleeves and buttoned them, signalling the end of his work, before smoothing down his tie, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets and coming to stand near her.

His tone now reserved, he said, “There’s a way I can help you remember.”

Rose chewed at a thumbnail, concerned with the lack of spark in the Doctor’s voice and eyes, “Is it dangerous?”

“No,” he instantly reassured. After a pause he slowly added, “You may not like what you see.” He held out his right hand to her and she took it willingly, pressing their palms together as their fingers wrapped around each other. The contact was comforting and secure. He picked up his pinstriped suit jacket off the railing and Rose matched his pace as he led her through the familiar organic corridors of the TARDIS and back into her bedroom.

***

Rose could not imagine how the Doctor could help her remember in the dimmed light of her bedroom. Sure, this is where she slept and thus when the memories came, but there was nothing special about her room.

“Memories are fragile,” he said, seemingly sensing her thoughts as he discarded his jacket on a chair and led her towards her bed. “You will only remember what your mind can hold on to.” They sat on the purple duvet cover, knees bumping together as they turned to face each other. “But memories can fade with time, or change if they are influenced by another person.” 

“You can be in my mind? Like the TARDIS?” Rose sounded surprised and loosened her hand from his. She was a little worried about the foray into her private thoughts; he might see other things in there that he didn't want, even after all they had been through together.

“Only if you want me to be,” he reassured and squeezed her hand. “Picture a door, barring the memories you don't want me to see”.

She nodded and he brought his index and middle fingers to her temples to feel for trigger points while his remaining digits cradled her skull. Rose watched the concentration in his face; it was weird to be touched like this, such intimate care for something so serious. She shivered at the tingling his ministrations caused and he pulled his hands away.

“This may hurt. It may wake up other forgotten memories, too.” Even in their proximity the Doctor sought her eyes for confirmation, “Are you sure?”

She took his hands from the space between them and guided them back to her temples. With a gentle smile the Doctor pressed lightly with his fingertips, letting his eyes slide shut. Rose took a deep death and followed suit.

***

It was black, so black, and she could feel herself twisting and turning with unnatural speed. “ _I've got you._ ” The Doctor’s voice was a comfort in her mind and grounded her onto the grated floor of the console room. Everything around her was dimmed yet she could feel the satisfying thrum of a song and an amazing urgency within her. She felt the Doctor on the opposite side of the entrance, consumed by hopelessness. Such empty sorrow. The doors and her heart opened and the emanating light touched him, her first Doctor, protecting him from the unsettled and lonely darkness that was filled with Daleks. Why was he so concerned while she was at peace? “ _I looked into the TARDIS. And the TARDIS looked into me,_ ” her wise words flowed in soft tones. A blue bolt fired, and with her palm she returned it back through time to the Dalek, yet both remained unharmed. “ _I am the Bad Wolf,_ ” she intoned. Her voice mingled with another, “ _I want you safe, my Doctor._ ”

Rose found herself back in the console room but the décor was unfamiliar; dark wooden boards concealing a metallic time rotor with ornate seals of entwined Ouroboros. The man she knew but with different features desperately tended to the console as the whole room shook and warning lights glared from the panels. On the monitor she saw a Utopia planet corrupted under temporal stress before being ripped apart, the first casualty of the Time War. The chasm in space was filled by fleets of Dalek ships. Rose watched her Oncoming Storm as he bowed his head in silent grief. She felt a disembodied pressure on her temples and then she was pulled back to the Game Station.

The voice and words of another said, “ _You are tiny. I can see the whole of time and space - every single atom of your existence, and I divide them._ ” Rose pitied the Daleks for their own insanity, caused by their own unnatural flesh. The burning light in its crescendo surged through her and into them; it was a tainted existence and she was glad for the end to their suffering. The Time War had ended, such contented bliss. Rose shook as she fought for control of her body and mind from the melancholy truth. Oh God, she'd committed genocide!

***

Rose pulled back but instantly longed for the Doctor’s touch. She felt dirty and swiped her hands against her pyjamas to get rid of the stains of blood that only she could see. Her breathing stuttered through choking tears. She blinked as the vivid light of her memory denied the dimmed reality that surrounded her. “I'm sorry,” Rose pushed the words out from her constricted throat, refusing to look at him.

The Doctor captured her wrists in his hands, stilling her movements; the grip was slick from her tears. He understood now the difference between the will of the TARDIS and the will of Rose. Rose was compassionate, even to the great exterminators of the Universe. He tilted her chin up with slender fingers and drew her eyes to his, to help her see he wasn't angry; he was proud, so very proud. Realising Rose didn't need mere words of forgiveness, he pulled her into his tight embrace. He wrapped one arm across her back while the other cradled her blond hair, and his lips rested on top of her head. Tears pricked the Doctor’s eyes at remembering the fall of Arcadia, at the intimacy he had unwittingly shared with Rose. Her breath was warm and moist in the crook of his neck. He wouldn't take the memory from her; if anything Rose was comforted by the familiarity of the act despite the content. He felt her hands splay slightly and rub his shoulder blades seemingly unconsciously as her breathing calmed; his mole tingled in response. But this was not the extent of her memory of the Game Station.

“You gave up the power,” he said wistfully, before lifting his head off of hers and releasing her from their hug. He brought his hand from cradling her head to cup her cheek and brushed away the traces of tears. Rose looked into his eyes and saw the natural spark had returned. She became aware that there was more to recall from that time, but had not yet fathomed being witness to the final casualty of the Time War. She nodded her consent, closed her eyes, and the Doctor replaced his hands. Together they re-entered her memories.

***

The diminuendo song in her mind left behind a furious radiance beyond her control. The Doctor was no longer prone on the floor but stood before her, still such frightening distance. “ _My head,_ ” her words trembled with fear at the pressing of death, a power she could not rid herself of, “ _...it’s killing me._ ”

The Doctor’s voice was kind and understanding, “ _I think you need a Doctor._ ” He took her hands in his worn ones and looked deep into her eyes, a beacon of searing passion saving her from drowning in liquid heat. Time held out as slowly he leant down to press his lips against hers. She gave herself to him, his touch and his life. He lifted the burden of universal knowledge from her, and it paled as she was engulfed in the Doctor’s life-sustaining love. Rose fell, sated into the Doctor’s arms.

She could still feel his lips, their thin curvature aligned with hers, a whispering touch. “You kissed me,” she smiled in awe. It was unbelievable, and for a moment Rose supposed she'd dreamt it, until she opened her eyes to the reality of her nose gently rubbing against his. Her face was still enclosed in his slender hands, and several moments passed before he opened his brown eyes and adjusted to the small distance to find hers; such a spark in proximity yet at such great depths behind his passive recluse. It offered her thinking space until a truth sank in.

“I killed you!” Rose tumbled backwards in her retreat from the Doctor, and she pressed herself into the TARDIS walls to maximize the distance between them. Her body hurt from the impact, and her heart grieved for the loss of her first Doctor. The only time he'd kissed her, such purity and honesty, and she'd killed him. “The kiss of death,” Rose mumbled as she fought back tears.

“The kiss of life, of renewal and rebirth,” the Doctor said calmly. Rose swore he sounded happy and glanced up to see his tall, thin form resting on her bed. She had made him change into a youthful man, though she had seen he still carried the same old nightmares. He held his right hand out to her, the one that had regenerated - the one she had caused to change in the first place - and he wiggled his fingers invitingly. Behind her the walls soothed as if there was nothing to be sorrowful for. Rose couldn't move on from things as fast, so she went to the Doctor and the security of his touch. He smiled with huge warmth as their hands mingled and something tugged deep down that made her want to do the same. 

The Doctor watched her retake her place at his side. She was dealing with this woken knowledge brilliantly. He didn't anticipate her wanting to go home anytime soon; the regeneration itself supported that theory. He hoped. But there were unresolved thoughts in her mind that he wouldn't push her to question until she was ready. Hopefully he would be able to answer them, too.

The first question came from her furrowed brow, “How come you died but I didn't? I thought your body was superior to a human.”

“The time vortex flowed through you and the TARDIS,” he began to explain. “There was only ever a small part of it inside you at any given time. It was only when you started to take control that it started to burn you from inside your mind.” In response to her nod, he added, “I absorbed _all_ of it and manipulated it back into the TARDIS, where it belongs.” Her face returned to its youthful rest. That was all the explanation that was necessary, but he found more earnest words following, “I had to, to save you.” Her lips parted in surprise. “It was my fault you ended up like that; I sent you home to protect you, and look what happened.” 

There was something in the Doctor’s voice that said he hadn't done it because he was honour bound. “No, it was my fault,” Rose said intently, “I looked into the TARDIS. It was my choice.” 

They both went to protest at the same time until their joined hands squeezed together in understanding, and a comfortable silence ensued. Listen to them, they sounded like an old married couple. She hadn't just thought that, but the lighter tone made her smile. “Can't get rid of me,” she tried to laugh but the seriousness of the act that brought her to him played closely to her chest. “Won't be flying the TARDIS like that again.”

The Doctor did laugh endearingly at those words and he put its mirth into his eyes and a sincere smile. He opened his shoulder to her and she shuffled along the bed into his embrace. His frame was deceptively soft around her, not the hard worn edges they had been before he changed; all natural browns now, his hair, eyes and clothes. Still a streak of steeled blue about him, though; the loneliness she had seen within him and his place in the universe. She inhaled deeply, and his scent loosened the nightmare’s grasp on her heart. She didn't want to let go.

“Sleep with me.”

The Doctor tensed, and Rose lifted her head to look at his raised eyebrow. Evidently some Twentieth century colloquialisms were not lost on the Doctor, and she found it funny. “Not like that,” the Doctor relaxed somewhat, “I mean hold me, tonight.” She smiled wryly, “My shelter from the Storm.” Rose held his eyes; maybe it was a good thing he hadn't started being carefree right now, but his delayed response was slightly unsettling. She briefly wondered if she had asked something terrible and he was going to take her home. Then he got up off the bed and loosened the knot in his tie, smiling ever so slightly. The times she had imagined the Doctor undressing in her room, none of them had such a lead in. But those thoughts were far away tonight as she slipped under the duvet cover and left room for him.

He made quick work of unbuttoning his cuffs, removing his plimsolls and tie, and placing them with his jacket before returning to Rose’s bed. Chivalrously he lay on top of the covers behind her; there was little spare space, and he went to put his hand on top of her hip. Rose captured it from the air and pulled his arm around her waist instead, twining their fingers and sandwiching his hand between her own and her stomach. He shuffled closer to her and she pressed back into him sealing any space away.

“Rose,” the Doctor said casually, “you need a bigger bed.” He felt her chuckle through him, and soon after her breathing evened out and harmonised with the pulse of the TARDIS.

Rose did not seem to be having any nightmares. If her contented smile was anything to go by, she was having happy dreams, save for the odd frown. The Doctor resisted the urge to see for himself what was entertaining her. It was amazing how open she was. He thought of leaving to get his diary to sketch her like this, or maybe get his long overcoat as that had a comforting effect on her and was not prone to fidgeting like he was. At his attempt to slide off the bed, Rose whimpered and squeezed his hand so he could not get free without waking her; she fell onto her back in the space he had created, and the Doctor found himself virtually lying over her with their joined hands resting over her abdomen. Even through the covers the Doctor could rule out one particular type of dream that was making Rose smile. Rose really needed a bigger bed.

His thoughts became more sombre. The one part of the Game Station he had dreaded her remembering was giving Captain Jack life; the memory was intact but yet to surface, and it could wait. The TARDIS hummed agreement. Now the Doctor began to etch the contours of her face to his mind; the heartfelt tears that lay bare on her cheeks, the bold curvature of her lips, the strong life that beat through her fragile skin just to be alive. Such honesty his Honour prevented him from being, but he could experience the Universe through her; Rose had given him a new lease of life. Satisfied he had committed this moment to memory, he closed his eyes to meditate.

They weren't adrift in thoughts, they had found each other.

~~~~~


	2. Moon And Water

Rose tried to turn over in bed but found the duvet offered more resistance than normal. She stretched languidly and took in a big breath; her hand was numb and the air was full of old tea, honey, other things that reminded her of the Doctor. It didn’t surprise her, as she’d been dreaming about him and hadn’t yet woken up properly. Yawning, she cracked an eyeball open to be greeted by the Doctor literal inches from her face. Her jaw abruptly shut and sent her head back into the pillow, her mind racing as to how he’d ended up here. Here being virtually on top of her, in her bed. No, her gaining consciousness pointed out, on her bed, fully clothed. Well, just a shirt and vest shrouding his torso. Maybe that was pornographic for this version of him, though his bottom half had always left her wondering his underwear presence. She realised she’d stopped breathing for fear of her morning breath waking him up. She tried not to laugh at the absurdity of this situation, and then sobered as she remembered the circumstance that had brought them here — the woken memory of Daleks on the Game Station.

It seemed a lifetime ago; for the Doctor she supposed it really was just that. His tawny hair had found interesting tangents to go off searching, including tickling her forehead. He’d never been this still since being sick after regenerating, and it presented an opportunity for Rose to study his features up close. Before, the change had been alien, but now she knew she was a part of it. Despite travelling with the Doctor’s pinstriped form for months, it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. He looked so serene, so youthful. She had never realised quite how many freckles he had, and they seemed to pattern down his neck and beyond his collarbone. Rose smiled to herself whilst wondering if he had any moles other than the one between his shoulder blades. Her numb hand itched to trace along his high cheekbones as he’d once done with her; she loosened her fingers from his that rested over the duvet and her abdomen. Rose found her hand too unwieldy from the lack of blood, so she settled for combing through his fringe and smoothing it behind his ears. It bounced back nearly as it had been before.

Nature called to end this moment much too soon so she slipped out of bed and to her bathroom. When she returned, no trace of the Doctor remained in her bedroom.

***

Breakfast was small — all she could stomach - and eaten alone. Not that Rose didn’t want the Doctor’s company; it was strange circumstance that something had happened that had rocked her, and yet she hadn’t wanted to go home for some Motherly comfort. _Yes, Mum. No dirty laundry, just found out I committed genocide and killed the Doctor just in time for Christmas. How are things?_ It could have been genocide twice if the Doctor hadn’t regenerated. She desperately wanted to find him and ask for a hug. He wouldn’t deny her, but she probably wouldn’t let go, and besides there was no hiding place from her mind. Even though the Doctor had held her all night, her sleep was not restful. No wonder he hardly ever slept, to be faced with such nightmares. She unfortunately needed more sleep to function properly.

Unsurprisingly, Rose found the Doctor in the console room fully groomed with a new shirt, tie and trusted pinstriped jacket. Presumably he was flying the TARDIS to their new adventure’s co-ordinates. Again she hovered by the chairs next to the rotor with a question in her eyes. As he approached her, the answer seemed easy, and he enveloped Rose in his arms with both his hands splaying across her back. Rose couldn’t find strength to lift her arms from their rest by her sides; the close scent of him was making her fall asleep.

“I’m not that boring, am I?” he teased. She smiled for the first time that day with her cheek pressed against his chest. For the briefest moment she forgot her troubles.

She lifted her head to look at him, “So, where are we going?” Rose rested her chin on his chest, realising he still hadn’t released her and she had no way of easily moving away. The Doctor seemed temporarily dumbfounded at her question despite it being one regularly asked then yanked himself back to the console.

“Just a holding pattern in the Vortex”, he scratched the back of his neck and slightly ruffled his hair with his finger strokes. “Have some maintenance that I didn’t finish last night,” he surmised and returned to flicking switches on the panels. Rose was perplexed at the speed of the Doctor’s behaviour change (that was saying something now) but blamed it on her tiredness. He looked up with a curious, expectant expression, and she realised she’d been standing seemingly idly. Rose had no more questions, just unorganised thoughts and a sense to go and rest nagging in her mind.

She turned to go and followed this sense, not to her bedroom as she had supposed but to the waterfall bathing area. Rose stopped well before the grass verge met the tepid water. She had never been here alone before and not since the regeneration; it was Jack who introduced her to it, saying it was his culture not to bathe alone. Sincere as that information was, Rose blessed the TARDIS for making the water flow rapidly enough to virtually mask all beneath its surface. When her first Doctor bathed he was always under the water before and after she left. It was Jack’s insistent comments that she bathe nude in company, too, that prompted Rose to ask for a private bathroom, and the Doctor had instructed the TARDIS to grow one adjacent to her bedroom.

She trusted the instinct that brought her here and left all her clothes on the bank, yet within reach on the off chance the Doctor felt like joining her. The warm, swirling water had a better spa effect than memory served; the sharp tang of blood diluted, and deafening melodies were drowned out in the cascading waterfall. But still her mind eddied. In solitude Rose found herself brooding much like the Doctor’s previous form as details of the end of the Time War mounted and muddled. Rubbing her temples had newfound understanding as memories seemed to filter into place. She was starting to empathise with why the Doctor never talked about his home. Though she had seen the death of her own planet, it was surreal in its distance in her future. For the Doctor the enduring sacrifice was an integral part of his past, and its war may have cost him his life, twice. Sinking down further, Rose let the flowing water carry the tension of her submersed body away.

***

The adrenaline that got her through the first night had exhausted, and the continued presence of the memories drained her. Rose wanted to go to bed but she didn’t want to be alone; consciousness offered a reprieve in keeping memories detached, but the barriers soon disappeared with sleep. As she finished night time preparations in her bathroom Rose idly wondered if the thought 'Bad Wolf' would bring the Doctor to her. Stepping into her bedroom, Rose was greeted by a strong silhouette resting on her doorframe with arms folded across his chest. Her heart skipped a beat, and it reappeared fluttering in her stomach. Though she couldn’t see the Doctor’s face properly, the finger tugging of his earlobe belied his confident exterior, and their equality brought back her ability to move.

“Thank you,” she said simply to the unanswered questions in the air; their dissipation prompted the Doctor to step over the threshold. He divested himself of jacket, tie and plimsolls on a chair while she slipped under the covers. He unbuttoned his cuffs as he walked up to her bed behind her. Before her brain realised Rose said, “You’re allowed to get in, too.” She blushed out of sight, but the Doctor seemed to take any interpretation in his stride.

“Nah, it’d ruin the crease of my shirts,” he said nonchalantly as the bed dipped behind her with his weight. The movement was quicker this time, and they fell together readily in the middle. Rose tried to push imagined impulses of a shirtless Doctor from her mind and squirmed the sensations away. Stilled, he placed his hand on top of her hip bone, asking. She laid her hand on top of his, resting her fingers in the gaps between his in reply. His slight fingertips twitched upwards and captured them, leading their arms around her waist. As Rose closed her eyes, the Doctor’s quiet breath tickled her scalp, removing the last tension from her body and leaving her pliant to sleep’s thrall.

It did not take long for the nightmares to return. The Doctor held onto Rose to keep her grounded; he cooed into her hairline, but it fell on deaf ears. She struggled against invisible forces, and her thoughts became manifest. She whipped over and knocked the Doctor off her bed. Deftly to his feet, Rose cried with his loss. 

He could not tend to her like this. The Doctor pulled back what remaining bedclothes covered her. He placed one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and scooped her off the bed. Her face sought the life beat in the crook of his neck as he carried her close through the winding passageways of the TARDIS and into his bedroom. There he gently laid Rose on one side of his four poster bed; her shifting caused an arm to slide over the edge. He reached across her to push papers on the floor, pull the covers back, and he nearly collapsed as she gripped his inner thigh. He braced his hands on either side of her torso to regain his composure. Seemingly unsatisfied with wool, her nails dug into the material, tearing puncture marks in the textile. Still something of the wolf in her the Doctor mused as he removed her pawing digits and shuffled her under the bed covers.

Her twisting limbs reanimated in his absence as he quickly changed into nightclothes. “Why do they hurt?” she cried. The Doctor hastened his actions at her wounded tone, then realised she was remembering more of the Game Station. His mind sent query to the TARDIS, who hummed in negative, the child recalled on her own. Rose seemed determined not to have covers tonight so he knelt one leg on the bed and slipped an open palm under hers. A sigh escaped between sobs, and she became docile enough for the Doctor to guide her onto her side facing away from him, assuming the position they had in her room. He would have warm feet at the very least.

Too soon the contact was enough to restrain but not to soothe her. With trembling tears and restless extremities, she turned her head to stare at him; her eyes were vacant, but behind them she screamed the howling wind of the Vortex. The vision haunted him; so helpless to prevent her suffering the one thing he could not protect her from - her unconscious mind. He comforted her in the way they knew, by sliding his arm under her neck in search of her other hand, bringing his long legs to cradle above and between hers, and enclosing her in a tight hug. He moulded and matched her entire body but held her eyes, his nose slipping on her clammy cheek as her body’s movements remained indomitable. “Bad Wolf,” she breathed ruggedly with fear and cowered into his embrace. A kiss wouldn’t save her; she hadn’t the awareness to give it.

Suddenly the Doctor nuzzled her jaw to turn her face away. He kept her pinned as he dragged his cheek down in line with her neck, pushing her blonde curls out of the way. He gripped her nape firmly with his teeth as a Wolf to its cub to move her, to prevent predators noticing her presence. Rose became compliant to his will, the twitching subsiding as she realised the safety of his hold. He pulled his head back and tenderly licked the wounds he had incised. She tasted of fluidic embers, lotus and a hint of honey blossom as his ministrations elicited mewing. It would be easy to lose himself in the moment and continue to taste her. But not in her sleep. Her eyes would have to be open, wide open and alive. Removing the temptation, he moved up until his lips rested on her crown. She shifted slightly to adjust to his alignment and sighed contentedly as once, softly, he kissed her goodnight.

~***~


	3. The Kiss of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notice: Discussion of sex and menstruation

Rose heard the melodies of the Vortex thundering inside her head. Cold darkness seemed distant in the swirling screen that blinded her from reason. Flames flickered, fuelled by the matter of her mind that sent sparks into her ether. One tiny spark captivated her attention just below her mind’s eye. She reached out, capturing it from the tip of its tendril, already burned out before its time. Familiar somehow, the dying ember dusted her surface. Infinite influence bestowed the power of the sun on the palm of her hand. Upon igniting the supernova, strands wove distantly through the fabric of time, more intimately filling out into the physical wrappings of flesh.

Rose became aware of words quietly flowing in her mind and over her ears. It was a delicate melody in a language she didn’t understand yet felt the meaning impressively; the elements complimented to both soothe and rouse. She pulled the blanket up under her chin, only for it to take flight and feather across her cheek and clear her face of errant hair. The music petered out, and the blanket was lifted from around her legs, too. Rose was not amused and looked down to see her pyjamas wrinkled up around her knees, and further down the trailing of a foot. She followed it over her shoulder to see it attached to crimson silk trousers with gold embroidery at the hem. Her neck wouldn’t turn any further so she let it return to rest on what had to be the nicest feeling pillow. The mattress was also amazingly comfortable now she thought about it, and the neck support was sublime. Her bed couldn’t possibly be this nice, and she opened her eyes to new surroundings.

“Hello, Sleepyhead,” the Doctor said gently behind her.

Rose’s awareness grew to include... books neatly arranged in coral alcoves, dark wood corner posts on a double bed that was dressed in beiges and browns that were somehow iridescent with her breathing movement. It was change that felt natural as she smoothed her hand over the bed space in front of her.

“How are you?”

Rose ticked off a mental checklist. Her skin was tight from crying,and her eyes and throat didn’t feel much better. Her hair looked knotted, her lower legs were getting cold and her muscles ached, but that tension seemed to be being drawn away into the bed below. “Getting better by the minute,” she replied honestly as she snuggled her head into the pillow. “Can I have this type of material on my bed, please?”

The Doctor chuckled slightly behind her, “That can be arranged as soon as I have my arm back.” 

A crimson blur appeared from under the pillow in front of her; she lifted her head slightly in surprise before acknowledging it was the same material as his leg. The bed dipped behind her back, and the Doctor’s arm retreated from underneath her neck. Up close the embroidery caught her attention. She rolled onto her back and quickly sat up to match the Doctor but winced at a pain in her neck. It soon passed but not before he’d noticed. She lifted her hand to casually rub the area to show it was okay but his deft fingers got there first and slowly massaged the offending spot. His touch seemed to unknot hidden tension. Her head flopped onto his shoulder as she unwrinkled her trouser legs from around her knees. Her cheek slipped a little on the silk and she readjusted to her chin for better purchase. It offered his fingers better vantage but it also offered her a view of his neckline. His pyjamas had a tight, high collar, yet there were no buttons or openings. There was no give in the material either, and Rose wondered if these clothes were Time Lord in order to fit over his ‘bigger on the inside’ head. She smiled quietly and sighed sleepily. The Doctor ended his work and brought his hand onto the mattress between them. She raised her head with the motion, and he shifted to get off the bed. Waking from the distraction, Rose grabbed his cuff and he stopped; he looked at her, partly interested, partly quizzical. 

“I saw this,” she gestured to a circle with intricate figure of eights inside on his sleeve,” all over the TARDIS control room in my -” she corrected herself, “- your memory.” Rose knew it would be difficult topic to broach, but her curiosity won, “What is it?”

A hint of sadness tinged on the Doctor’s face. “It’s the seal of the Time Lords,” he said simply, as if it didn’t matter. “All of the Time Lords bore it on their ships during the war.” His eyes became reflective and unfocused from her, “A ward against evil.” There was a pause. Rose tugged at his sleeve to return his attention to the present and offered a sympathetic smile. He flicked the underside of his nose and sniffed with disdain, “Always found them a bit ostentatious.”

“Ostentay-?” it wasn’t fair to use big words on her first thing, and it was even more unfair now it was literal minutes after waking up.

“Showy, makes you stare,” he clarified. Rose nodded her understanding. From their shared memory the huge seal above the police doors was showy, and these little seals on his hems were making her stare, especially the ones on his waistline that rested over his crotch. Why would they design wards to line up there - was sex evil to his people or something? She snapped out of staring downwards and roamed the sea of red instead.

“Showy - Bit like these clothes, yeah?” she teased. A thought dawned on her and a coy smile appeared, “Isn’t red supposed to be camp?”

The Doctor’s eyes twinkled, and a mischievous grin grew. Rose realised she’d been had all that time ago, when they were chasing that bomb through the Vortex, and she poked him in the side. Her delight grew at his ticklish response, and her other fingers joined in. The Doctor shuffled off the bed to get away, never once retaliating but not really stopping her efforts either. He feigned hurt pride but never lost his morning enthusiasm as he walked around the bed, collecting clothes from a dark wood chair on his way. Rose flopped victoriously onto the mattress and spread her arms out wide into the accommodating space. “Make my bed a double one,” she sighed contentedly and thought about falling asleep again, until the Doctor disappeared into a coral wall. Rose blinked - that really had just happened. She climbed off the bed, stepping between books and loose papers as she made her way to the spot where the Doctor had vanished.

There was no door to the Doctor’s bedroom. It was a short, organically formed curved passage and - she soon discovered - it was an optical illusion both ways. Rose smiled in amazement; she could have walked past his bedroom every day and never realised. This corridor didn’t look familiar though, so she trusted the TARDIS to guide her back to her own room to start the day.

***

“Kimlorsa D’mit — Festival of the Unchained Talent,” the Doctor said bouncing towards the exit. “There’s a smaller celebration each year but every fifty you get - this,” he opened the police box doors for Rose who stepped out onto the outskirts of a huge funfair. “It’s a human colony planet with a tightly knit ecosystem that doesn’t cope well with change,” he began his infill of the locale, “the fight for mobile business took fifty years give or take — it’s a nicer number - when they proved the environment could cope and it wasn’t ‘park, parasite and move on’.” It looked so familiar to her, almost like the ones on the derelict land by her home estate except for very red soil under the grass and light orange clouds above. The sun was quite high and the stalls already bustling. Rose caught him watching her reaction, and she smiled warmly in approval; it was just what the Doctor ordered.

The outskirt food stalls sold suitable breakfast items, and they shared syrup waffles, coffee and ice cream; Rose the coffee and waffles and the Doctor the ice cream. Her hunger made quick work of her share, and she sought the Doctor’s hand afterwards to swing slightly between them, creating space in the crowds. Rose looked at his ice cream as he brought it to his mouth and nibbled. The Doctor noticed and offered her a lick but she declined; it wasn’t the ice cream that interested her, more so his lips. He seemed to have no top lip to speak of but the bow of his lower one more than compensated, especially as it drew across the creamy surface collecting what his tongue had softened into his mouth. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he said.

“Why a kiss?” she blurted in response; that caused their arms to still and Rose to blush as she saw the Fortune Teller sign that had prompted his speech. He instantly knew what she meant; the Doctor looked around and the proximity of others now seemed too close for comfort. Then his eyes found hers, and his discomfort eased though his hesitation remained.

“Your face is the key to your essence. Ever heard the phrases ‘your eyes are the windows to your soul’ or ‘your mouth the gateway’?” She nodded and squeezed their palms together. “Touching your hands wasn’t enough; the Vortex had mingled with your life force.” There was a more personal element involved that he disguised behind eating ice cream and giving an impish grin, “I could have sucked your nose clean — even to the Egyptians it was access to your brain.” Rose groaned and batted their joined hands against his coated thigh, her interest turning to the Fortune Teller.

“Are they empathic or can really see into the future?” she enquired, peering through a gap in the velvety curtain of the entrance to the shadowed interior.

“Nothing so advanced,” he began moving their hands again, and their bodies followed. “There are sensors —Nanobots - that pick up surface thoughts, feeds the projection signal into the crystal ball and the Teller gives you a feel good interpretation.” As they scoped out what the fair had to offer for the coming days, the Doctor explained the mechanics of unfamiliar attractions. Rose wasn’t sad at the loss of the illusion; she was interested in the reality of how things came to be, as if it heightened the experience.

The possibility that she’d mingled her soul with the Doctor drifted in and out of her mind throughout the day. His answer built her confidence that she could try asking more questions about the Game Station, if not the Time War before. He’d said kissing in a way that put the romance novels of her misguided youth to shame. Maybe she’d imagined it, but when he’d given the detached explanation for his actions something fluttered in the back of her mind as well as her heart; a tethered, lonely want that desired to be set free. But this desire had no effect below the waist.

Inevitably things did warrant attention below her waist, and Rose found she could stand the stench of the public conveniences just once. Some aspects of funfairs really were Universal.

***

“Why is my bedroom door sealed around the edges with coral?” Rose enquired as she returned to the control room where the Doctor was tending to the console.

“The TARDIS is modifying your bed,” he reminded her, then cheerily added. “It’s best not to be on a bed she’s altering, otherwise you might become a part of it.” She seemed to scoff at his response and then yawned wide. “You can sleep in my bed again, if you want.”

As her jaw closed, she stared at him, a little shocked at how easily he’d said all that and just continued to work. Rose had no real complaints though — it was better than playing musical bedrooms. She turned around, drawing her hand along the walls so she didn’t miss his bedroom. Knowingly crossing the threshold held more significance to her than simply waking up in his bed. He’d obviously tidied the floor up to match the organisation of the shelves. There was no carpet, she noted, yet the floor was warm and soft under her socked feet. Predominantly the ‘Old World’ gothic fashioned dark wood of the furniture presented itself as it was in their shared memory, as if the last time he’d slept here was during the War. But studying the contents of his room further revealed a myriad assortment of styles. The books were alphabetised, yet no two looked alike, save for the loving wear through use. The desk had inkpots and a collection of ornate silver pens like the Queen would use and even more books, this time in a rumpled pile. There were no trinkets or photos on the walls or the surfaces though; the room remained very functional, very... Doctor.

It came at slight annoyance but no surprise there was no hidden bathroom after she’d traced along all the walls again. She didn’t fancy finding the communal bathrooms now hers was out of commission as fatigue caught up with her. Rose wanted to ease into his bed again but not in these clothes. She spotted what she assumed was a wardrobe and touched the handle then hesitated — why would the Doctor have a separate wardrobe when he frequently used the main four storey one in the TARDIS, when she’d asked for her private wardrobe and he obviously spent little time in his bedroom?

“It’s the closet to Narnia.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the Doctor’s chirping voice. She felt like she’d been caught snooping, but his smile relaxed her as he leaned against the passage wall with his legs crossed and hands in his trouser pockets. “A whole world contained in a TARDIS sized box. Aslan and I go way back.”

One hand steadied her heart while she laughed slightly at his humour and opened the wardrobe door. At the very front was a pyjama set almost identical to the Doctor’s in embroidery but was a golden orange in colour. She pulled it out and held it at arms length and soon discovered it was also the size of the Doctor's. “The colour suits you,” he said warmly, the absence of streaming sentences making it more poignant.

Despite his approving eyes, she questioned the choice, be it TARDIS or Doctor, “It’ll bury me.” He gave a knowing smile and she trusted his judgement, laying the suit on the bed and pulling off her socks. With her hands at the hem of her shirt she noticed the Doctor was still in the room and facing her. “I’m not giving a strip tease,” she said wryly with a hint of embarrassment. He continued to stand there with a bemused expression until she made shooing motions in his direction, at which point he lifted off the wall and spun round out of the room. She waited for a few moments before stripping her shirt, bra and key chain and putting her arms inside the golden silk. Although there was no give in the material the narrow neck fitted easily over her head, and the hems finished at her waist and wrists. The same fit applied to the trousers, and she marvelled at the science, idly thought she would have been out of a job long before the Doctor blew up her workplace if all clothes were ‘one size fits all’.

Rose retrieved a band from her jean pocket and tied her hair into a loose bun before pulling back the many layers of bedclothes and climbing in. She noticed there was a canopy suspended above her that was almost black and iridescent, like the covers only the lustre was more prominent. As she eased into the comfort of the mattress, Rose fancied herself lying underneath a starry sky. Much better than the glow in the dark plastic stars she’d had as a child where the blue adhesive blocked most of the luminescence.

The stars returned in her dreams; not the distant twinkling to a mortal but an eruption of volcanic sparks that clouded around her. An angered Deity had vented, leaving behind a desolate landscape as heated plumes flowed through her. Her old soldier remained on an island, and she knew him, all that he was, all that they could be. But she couldn’t touch him without burning them alive. She had to let go before the fires consumed her, but how could she let this go? She had saved the world but would lose him to the phoenix flames.

***

Intuitively the TARDIS urged the Doctor to return to the sleeping child, ending his brief tending of the console. Rose had her eyes closed but was still restless, clawing at the bedclothes and never satisfied with her purchase. He stripped and loosely folded his clothes over the back of the chair when she called out his name. He turned to see her eyes still sealed with her face contorted with anguish. Instinctively the Doctor approached her to soothe her with touch, collecting an outstretched hand in his. She hesitated as if it wasn’t what she expected, felt for a thickness his fingers no longer had. She continued her study of his exposed arm; tracing upwards and at full extension, she moved her fingers laterally across his chest. The Doctor noticed her eyelids weren’t moving rapidly, and her face became contorted for other, more pleasurable reasons — Sexsomnia. The obsessions of humanity - sex and death — and he had neither. At least she wasn’t using her nails, and her ministrations softly tickled his hair and skin. Perhaps it was better viewing for her sleeping mind than the Game Station, though not in his current state of undress as her hand skittered downwards. He put his hand just under his navel and gathered her fingers, returned them to the bedclothes and resumed changing into his night robes.

The Doctor leaned against the bed post, watched with some fascination as her sleeping mind dealt with his loss. The heel of her hand pressed in the cradle of her hips and descended; the distancing layers of cloth were a sweet torment. Unfulfilled, Rose’s hands disappeared below the covers to retrace her line more intimately, but she winced. Something real had disjointed her dreaming events, and she sighed in frustration, turning to her side facing away from him. Her settling hair caught the Doctor’s attention — the skin on her neck had already healed. He turned to his jacket and fetched out his horn-rimmed glasses from the inside pocket. Upon closer inspection, he found that his incisions had disappeared without trace, despite their scoring depths with her straining. He frowned and removed his glasses; twentieth century humans didn’t heal that fast on their own. There were no Nanogenes on the planet, and if she’d known about the marks and healed them with the dermal regenerator it was odd she hadn’t mentioned it.

His thoughts were usurped as she became distressed with the return of her nightmares. Their silks married as he got into bed behind her and eased her fidgeting legs with his own. She wasn’t as restless tonight, and there were no tears; she kept things hidden in her mind. He could pursue his curiosity of the abrupt end to her earlier pursuits, though. He placed his fingertips in a star pattern below her navel sensing for injury or menstruation, both painful causes to stop. According to Rose at least, who dismissed his reasoning that the beginning of her life sustaining cycles should be celebrated and retorted that he didn’t, couldn’t know what it was like. He couldn’t detect either, and it would remain a mystery as her hand sought his and carried it to the mattress, the union of their fingers reassuring to them both.

How his people would scorn him for dressing a human child in regalia of the academy, for sharing a bed when he was in sane mind. If they were here. Before he was cold to emotional commitment; his constant company a low mental chatter of people he didn’t belong to who were always watching, always chiding. Now he couldn’t help himself, it seemed, when it came to Sleeping Beauty. Maybe she had driven him mad with domesticity. Maybe he wanted to be mad, driven there by the silence in his mind when it was voices that usually signalled insanity. To a human. Beauty rolled into him and onto her back, their hands perched on her offside hip. She was so trusting, this vessel for the compassion that had saved him many times, many ways, and notably around Christmas. He adjusted his leg to fit between her thighs from the front and lifted his head from the pillows. Rose looked tired, and if he believed he would wish upon every star he’d seen that when she tired of him she would go on and have a fantastic life, and retain her compassion until the end of her days.

Rose stirred. “All that we could be,” she murmured, a mix of emotions playing across her face. He recognised the altered words from long ago, wondered what she saw through the Vortex when personal futures were forbidden knowledge. A small smile graced his lips as his head returned to the pillows. It could just be an influenced dream to her, a furthering of her desires earlier in the evening. He also occupied himself with the whimsical possibilities he rarely allowed himself to think.

If she stayed.

~***~


	4. Lyrics and Sound

Rose could hear a steady double beat in her ear and through her palm. It was accompanied by a resonation in her pillow and softly spoken words that came from above her head. The sounds were nothing like the howling of the Vortex, and they drew her from her dreams into consciousness. Though as she regained lucidity the music dissipated, and she was left with the slow rise and fall of her head. Rose drew her hand down the side of her pillow and snuggled it closer to her. The pillow squirmed and chuckled. “I think we’ve had enough of your bedroom gymnastics for one day, Rose Tyler,” it said.

A crimson tide greeted her opening eyes. She thought she was still dreaming the destructive, fiery magma and flinched backwards, then flinched forwards as a pain stabbed her lower back. The Doctor caught her hand, eyes and expletives, concern evident on his face. Rose felt she couldn’t hide this from him, to dismiss it as nothing, and lifted her hand to place it in the small of her back. His hand followed hers and began tending to the tension indicated, while her hand returned to his solar plexus for balance. She managed to keep her eyes open, though heavy lidded, to process her surroundings. Their robes, now pressed together, looked like a matching pair, his & hers, Time Lord & Lady. She smirked at the thought and dismissed it at his curious look, “It’s nothing, just a bit ticklish.”

She tilted her head to clear errant twirls of hair and considered him. In these clothes he looked like an Elf, or maybe a Half-Elf with his tangent hair and stubble that only seemed to grow when he wasn’t looking; his slender frame and fingers that threatened to pool tension elsewhere. He really had no idea what he was doing to her as her temperature rose, his eyes aloof. Though keeping his eyes, she had the strangest sensation wash over her, but how could she feel lonely when she and the Doctor were lying alongside one another?

She looked away, and her vision swam green away from the red of his pyjamas. Disorientated, she flopped onto her back, noticed her temperature was still high and that she felt pretty green, too. She put a hand to her forehead, “Why do I feel so sick?”

The mattress shifted as the Doctor got out of bed and padded to his jacket where he retrieved the sonic screwdriver. Oh great, she thought - now I’m being screwed by the Doctor in bed! Rose laughed at how bizarre this was and ignored his comments that the screwdriver wasn’t ticklish as blue light played over her silk and skin.

“There’s no major infection or injury,” he said looking at the results, “your body is probably detoxifying from the woken knowledge.”

Her mirth subdued at the reminder. “I can have the TARDIS run a more thorough check though, just in case.” He lightened his tone, “Can’t have you disorientated for the trapeze now, can we?” Rose groaned. “Oh come on, it’s magnetic, there’s no mishap unless you’ve got loose items in your pockets, or are wearing exceptionally baggy clothing,” he beamed as he picked up his clothes.

Rose threw a pillow at him, which he effortlessly dodged, but he took the hint to be quiet and leave; one of these he could do, and he headed toward the exit. “Fourteen hours is plenty of sleep for a human,” he called back as he left.

The Doctor had the perfect way of getting her out of his bed, it seemed. Fourteen hours? No wonder her back was stiff, her bladder pressed and her stomach complaining at being empty for so long without adrenaline keeping it shut. It would have to wait longer as she tried to recall where the communal bathrooms were and if the Doctor would already be in them. She wondered how he would react to public nudity now when the many layers of his bed and clothes harked back to a Victorian era where less was pornographic. Her feet touched the floor where she was convinced she’d strewn her clothes, yet instead she found them in a tidy pile on a cushion.

The TARDIS made the bed, rearranged the main wardrobe, but always left her clothes where she’d put them in her bedroom — had the Doctor done it? Did he care what his room looked like when he knew how messy her own was? It dawned on her that she had no access to her make up either, and this just added to her strange start to the day.

***

Crowds gathered for the afternoon’s concert, a unified ensemble of the solo musicians that were dotted throughout the funfair. The Doctor returned with his hands full of savoury and sweet items that Rose had asked for, and more besides. She pointed with her remaining free hand at a clear bag that contained what looked like animated multicoloured puffs of rice. It was confectionary she hadn’t seen before.

“Sugar faeries,” the Doctor announced. He opened the bag and let some out. Rose watched in amazement as they hovered in the air in front of them, dancing around each other and slowly descending, before abruptly falling into the Doctor’s hand and disappearing into his mouth. He offered the bag to her, and she put her hand in; they prickled against her skin, and she let her handful out into her mouth. In the flurry of pleasant itching on her tongue, some escaped. They didn’t stay in the air long, but she caught them all and returned them to be eaten.

Rose poked her tongue between her teeth, “Do they come in plum flavour?”

“I suspect so, you’d have to ask,” the Doctor replied, the reference lost on him. He rocked on his feet, anticipating the start of the music. Rose began organising her lunch, lacing sweet and savoury fillings in a bread wrap. She caught the Doctor giving her food combination a faint look of disgust, “What, all together?” Rose took a big bite and offered him the other end, which he put his hand up to in polite refusal, “I’d rather eat your Mother’s nut loaf.” She let that comment slip as static came through the speakers and hushed the crowd.

The music started quietly but still possessed those playful, clowning and marching elements classic to Earth funfairs. The score was accompanied by stage performers; at first jugglers and walking clowns that mingled with the standing crowd closest to the stage that resulted in pockets of laughter. As the music became louder and more percussive, acrobatic teams came out on bouncy stilts that propelled them unnaturally high to perform multiple twists, somersaults and crossovers. Fuelled by his sugar intake, the Doctor bounced a little off the ground, evidently eager to try those apparatus for himself. The first part of the concert ended with a bang, a literal explosion of Roman candle fireworks and a visible sound wave that passed through the audience. Many appreciative sounds voiced around them, and the Doctor joined in, “If you think that’s brilliant, wait until the firework display on the final night!” His lively form stumbled back to Earth when he saw Rose was upset.

“The delta wave didn’t work,” she said quietly to the floor as a tear slipped down her cheek. She mentally berated herself for crying so much; it wasn’t like her, and it saddened the Doctor to see her upset, and she didn’t want to add to his troubles. Rose felt his hand brushing under hers and she took it, toying with his fingers.

People milled around them in the interval. “It would have worked,” he said in a voice that only she could hear, “but it wouldn’t have distinguished between human and Dalek.” He swallowed hard against the memory, “I couldn’t push the trigger.” People knocked into her, but she didn’t seem to notice as more tears escaped. He brought their joined hands up and lifted her chin, but she turned her face to the side.

Rose had done something the Doctor couldn’t. It wasn’t that she saved the day when all else failed. “Rose, look at me,” he pleaded firmly. He had the answers but not the immorality; blamed himself for everything he could when she’d done something he would normally stop. His fingers brushed along her jawbone, her hand a heavy counter to his. She had divinely forgiven him for the sins, freed him with a kiss into a new life. “Please,” he softly begged. It was always someone else who struck the match, cut the rope. Did she want forgiveness? Rose looked into his eyes and found sympathy in them that poorly masked discomfort in his face. He pulled her towards him but she resisted. Would the Doctor’s forgiveness be enough? She didn’t want to deny him something that made him feel better and was drawn towards him. His free hand gently rested between her shoulder blades as she inhaled his honey scent through the apex of his unbuttoned shirts.

“Rose,” he sighed, bringing his lips down to her ear, “it wasn’t you, it was the TARDIS.” He could feel her face creasing on his clavicle and her breathing held as she tried not to cry. The Doctor eyed the people around them who had started to notice their extended embrace, warding them away from her vulnerability; a partial reminder of why public hugs were brief. But Rose wasn’t a small child frightened by the loud sounds. She was becoming like him; closing off, hiding wounds that scarred the soul. He didn’t want that for Rose. “My girls, protecting me,” he murmured, before realising quite what he’d implied.

Rose freed her fingers from his, quickly wrapped her arms under his coat and squeezed around his slight frame, which caused him to rise onto his toes. Her lips curled against his skin into a smile, and there was the moist exhale of a short laugh. She still kept a tight grip though, and he didn’t particularly want to start respiratory bypass. “Rose, I quite like breathing when the atmosphere permits,” he said in good humour, and she hastily let go with a flush of embarrassment that lingered on his skin.

“There are just all these thoughts and memories and feelings going round in my head,” she gestured with a circling finger by her temple. “I don’t know which ones are mine, which ones are real,” she swallowed against a lump in her throat. “I want to get them all out, but if I say them out loud they’ll just stream and not make any sense,” she realised who that reminded her of. Rose scrubbed her face in absence of make up and took a deep breath but soon regretted it as her stomach lurched slightly at the nauseating smells. He took her hand.

“I told you that assortment you called lunch wasn’t right,” he kidded and took in a calculated breath. “But there is the smoke from the pyrotechnics lingering. Nothing a cup of tea can’t fix.” He smiled cheekily, and they began walking through the dissipated pockets of people towards food vendors. Away from the crowds, Rose’s interest was drawn to a collection of crafts and jewellery stalls, and she drew her loose change from her jean pockets. “My treat,” the Doctor broke her attention. She had to have imagined that — the Doctor, jewellery shopping? But his smile was sincere, and he waved her on while their drinks were made.

All of the stalls boasted they were genuinely hand made by the sellers using local materials, and there was a predominance of rough orange stone, red beading and intricately forged thin metalwork. Rose gravitated towards a table of gemstones and began touching some of the surfaces. Most of them felt cool to her skin, but the more golden yellow ones trailed warm, tingling swirls into her palm. The stall holder came out, “Tiger Iron,” he said chattily in a Celtic lilt, gesturing to the last grouping she touched, “with a dominant streak of Gold Tiger’s Eye. When’s your birthday, dear?”

“Oh, April 27,” Rose was slightly wrong-footed at being asked, given calendars had little meaning on the TARDIS, “on Earth.”

“An Arian - it’s your Zodiac stone,” the man announced. She went to protest that she was a Taurus but a cup of tea appeared in front of her.

“There are more days and months on the Earth calendar as the orbit around the Sun increases, but the Zodiac constellations remain relatively constant,” the Doctor informed as she took her tea. She was rather taken with a pendant shaped like the gemstone’s namesake set in silver metal. The trader had plenty to say.

“It harnesses the energy of the earth with that of the sun; it draws the spirit out and grounds it. It boosts physical energy, self confidence, and when it sits over your heart chakra it balances those below it, especially reproduction,” with his final point he looked at the Doctor then back at Rose with a coy smile.

With practised neutrality, the Doctor drank his tea, while Rose hastily set hers down on the table and fumbled with the fastening to the TARDIS key chain. Perhaps unsurprisingly it wouldn’t unfasten without the sonic screwdriver, and the backs of the Doctor’s fingers rubbed her throat as he held the clasp. The trader watched all the time this intimate display as the pendant chinked against the key above Rose’s t-shirt. Rose nodded, and as they picked up their cups the Doctor asked the price. “If you pledge to protect the lady’s heart, no charge,” the trader charmed.

“How could I not?” the Doctor replied in an equally charming manner while casting a sideways glance at Rose. Rose laughed at the exaggeration in the Doctor’s gesture and joined in by notably clasping their hands together. The man let them go, and out of sight their motions became more honest, the Doctor’s eyes lingering on her gift. Rose patted her chest and looked to check if she’d spilled any tea, then looked at the Doctor whose eyes were warm with mirth. Without the merest hint of suggestion he asked, “Are you going to wear that in bed?”

***

The walk from the bathrooms seemed longer than normal as she finally arrived in the Doctor’s bedroom, her own still sealed off. The golden pyjamas had been folded, albeit untidily, on the bedcovers and they pillowed a small hardback book. There was no title, just ornate swirls and circles, and leafing through the pages revealed them to be blank. It was a diary, another gift from the Doctor. She quickly changed into the pyjamas that had retained her size with the key chain concealed beneath, which was evident only by touching it. It wasn’t uncomfortable beneath this material, and she contemplated wearing the chain all the time on the TARDIS as well as off it; practically in case she was transmatted off again, but personally it was a comforting collection of things the Doctor had given her.

Rose retrieved the plainest looking pen off the desk and got into bed, noticing the rumpled bed linen, and blotted ink a few pages in. She didn’t know what to start with. The last time she’d kept a diary she’d known the date, and on the TARDIS they never stopped to write about their adventures. Or rather she didn’t as she knew the Doctor had a diary and filled it in while she slept. A few more dots appeared on the page in contemplating how to begin.

_Dear Diary,_

Rose took a deep breath, held it, and then let the words escape.

_This week I discovered I’ve committed genocide. The Doctor assures me that it wasn’t me, that it was the will of the TARDIS; a strong voice of righteous anger that’s very old, and probably knows everything in the Universe - how it is, how it could be, how it should be. The TARDIS always watches, takes us where we want to go, grants people their wishes if you look into her starry heart. But this time she wanted something for herself and I became the willing conduit. We just wanted the Doctor to be safe. I suppose it had to be this way, I/she couldn’t just send the Daleks away to some other part of the Universe as they’d just conquer and expand there. Even the one I’d touched with human emotions killed everything that wasn’t Dalek. It’s not right that there wasn’t another way; they are rational but singular minded in their systematic extermination. It doesn’t take away that I had an intimate hand in their destruction, that I felt the anger in me and the peace after the deed was done. I see it as if it was me, through my eyes; too weak to fight against an almighty power. I have to live with it, me alone, as not even the Doctor can claim such individual responsibility on this scale._

_I don’t believe in fate, the Bad Wolf, as it allows you to claim your successes without claiming your failures. It’s not right. But who am I to decide what’s right? Maybe not right, just important. I trust the Doctor, always have and he brings out the best in people, shows you a better way of living. He could have left me on the Game Station if I’d done wrong in his eyes, could have took me home and I never would have remembered away from the TARDIS, or just left me to burn from the inside as my punishment. But he didn’t want me to remember; not for fear that I would do it again but to protect me. Maybe that’s partly the reason he was distant with me after he changed his face, that it would be too much for me and I’d leave this life and him. Or maybe it’s because I understand him better now, the decisions and the responsibility. But still he won’t open up; afraid for when I leave him through my mortality and of the depths of pain for being truly alone. We’re sharing a bed but he tidies my stuff in here like I’m a guest._

 

With that Rose put the book to one side and snuggled under the covers. For the briefest flash the canopy changed from constellations to a pair of trees with entwined branches that wept tiny silver leaves. Rose squinted to try and follow their descent over the fabric, but the darkness proved too much for her tired, burning eyes.

The deep blue of the Game Station walls were no barrier to her sight. The Sun and the Moon were bright, heavenly bodies calling to her. Rose saw the endless cycling: The pull of the Earth to Luna a low echo of its own lure to the Sun. But for all their turning and yearning, the luminescence of their torches did not penetrate the muted atmosphere. The Earth was stilled, hushed by her human past. She designed to make the Sun sing louder for her subjects to see, but even without influence it became deafening, blinding to her mortal coil. She remained tethered to the ground, sightless in the dimmed surroundings, allured only to a solitary beacon whose melody was heartbreaking concern.


	5. Physical Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight reference to the book The Stone Rose

The Doctor was sitting on top of his bed covers wearing his horned rimmed glasses, with a small book resting open a few pages back on his crossed legs. One hand held an ornate pen while the other held Rose’s, his thumb idly tracing wards and seals on the back of her hand. Some resembled entwined Ouroboros and coupled trees, others lightning strikes pooled with a stemmed rose in bloom.

Rose stirred into consciousness and squeezed his hand. The Doctor looked down and smiled softly at her, stilling his thumb and squeezing back. Rose sat up and wondered what he was reading, only to come face to face with an image of herself and the Doctor’s ink stained fingers. The attention to detail of her exposed skin was breathtaking like he’d been watching her all night, and was testament to Michelangelo’s tutoring. Ink work suited the Doctor better than stone carving, and it was beautiful. _She_ was beautiful. The Doctor capped the pen and shifted the paper, causing the image to bristle with life and energy though the subject’s eyes were closed. Was this how the Doctor saw her? What about that ‘wither and die’ stuff that kept him distant? Rose noticed he was still wearing his shirt and pin striped trousers and tugged at his sleeve. The Doctor cleared his throat

“You didn’t need me to hold you last night,” he said, “just a hand to hold.”

“Yeah, but I wanted —“ Rose tried to hide her disappointment that this bed share was probably nothing more to him than getting through a rough patch. One hand felt for the key and pendant on her breast while her eyes lingered over her image. She could feel the Doctor watching her, the most intense emotions she’d felt whilst awake in this bed. She smiled slightly inside; this was the longest she’d shared a bed with a man without sexual advances. He didn’t want her that way, but that was nothing new. Yet the depths of his eyes she looked into now touched her soul, made her wish that they could kiss while in their own minds and far away from danger.

“Is the TARDIS okay?” she changed her train of thoughts, which seemed to surprise the Doctor, if only for a brief moment. “Only I don’t remember her taking this long to build my wardrobe or it being such a long walk to the bathrooms.”

“She’s fine, just slow on non-essentials like shifting her interiors for our convenience and house keeping,” he rattled off to the bedroom. “I usually work on her while you’re asleep, but I haven’t been doing any maintenance as I’ve, err,” he returned his eyes to hers, smiled widely and affectionately said, “I’ve rather had my hands full.”

Rose decided to show the Doctor how much of a handful she could be. With a mischievous grin she thumped the book pages closed and lobbed the volume onto the pillow behind her. His glasses followed suit. Taking advantage of his stupor, she whipped the bed sheets off of her and around him, pushing his torso onto the mattress. She blocked his escape by pinning the material beside him with one arm, and tickled him in the side with her free hand. He squirmed energetically, with his words of protest belied by his delighted tone. He shifted downwards, and Rose noticed a foot appearing from under the covers. He wasn’t getting away so easily, and she straddled him just above the waist with her thighs. They gave her stronger purchase, leaving both her hands free for their unanswered assault. She’d rarely heard him laugh so loud with such heartfelt happiness, and she couldn’t help joining him.

His hair was totally dishevelled with his struggling and writhing, and a pinkish tinge grew on his cheeks. He threw his head into the pillow and arched his back, causing her to slip down him slightly. Rose’s breath hitched as she felt something long and hard slide along the apex of her thighs and lifted up a fraction, her hands stilling at his sides as warmth permeated her skin at the point of reduced contact. Before she could look up into his eyes his hand moved under the covers, over his belly and down to the shadow of their joining. Her breathing became very shallow as he fumbled; there was a scraping of metal and her eyes shot up and fixed on his. His face was a picture of unkempt with his parted lips, smattered freckles and unruly hair, but his eyes were focused directly into hers. Rose was lost in them and hardly noticed he’d brought his hand up from under the covers until he bopped her on the nose with the pen he’d retrieved. “Don’t want to stain the front of my trousers,” he remarked as he put the pen on a nearby ledge that seemed suited for the purpose. Rose shifted her weight to one side as he reached over, trying to regain her composure; it made sense that flesh wouldn’t be that noticeable through this much fabric.

“That was not a fair engagement in the rules of physical combat,” he sighed with mock disapproval. He returned to lie down beneath her but with a glint in his eyes that she matched, poking her tongue between her teeth and running it along their enamel edges to the side of her mouth. He quirked an eyebrow at her challenge, “You like it rough and dirty, do you?” Disbelief spread across her face, and he took advantage to turn the tables by freeing a leg from her unbalanced restraint and flipping them over. Rose shrieked with glee and wriggled across the mattress under his high limbed command, a cat enjoying its play of the mouse. His morning energy and her reaction quickly shed the bedcovers giving him detailed access to her form. The silk made purchase difficult, so he splayed his hands up her sides to hold her while the tips of his fingers learned her responses. As his fingers patterned upwards, she managed to turn over. His palm dragged over soft flesh and then dug her key chain into unyielding ribs. Rose swore and play stopped.

Her heart beat and breathing were rapid underneath her hand which seemed to accelerate the pain gathering in her breastbone as she rolled onto her back. The Doctor’s hands were on the mattress away from her, palms upturned and limp, but he still leaned over her considerably. Concern and guilt spread across the Doctor’s face, ‘ _I’m so sorry_ ’ daring to form on his lips. She shushed any words with her index finger, knowing he’d want to ease her physical discomfort in the fashion of the previous mornings, and she wasn’t in the mood. She took in a contemplative breath; there was something she could do to show she was okay. Rose sought his opposite hand and adjusted her grip as she brought it up over her stomach, to rest the back of his hand between the cushion of her breasts. Her hand rested on top of his as his fingers parted either side of his material gifts. His lips turned slightly upwards at the corners, and his face softened.

In the stillness of the gesture, the book began to slide down the pillow. Rose turned her head as it slipped onto the mattress; the pages flickered before her, revealing her handwriting one end and the Doctor’s artwork the other. Thoughts quickly came to her — whether he’d read her diary (though he’d seen her thoughts in her mind) and why he’d sketch in it rather than his own. Rose looked at the Doctor to question his motives, and her breath caught upon seeing him. His eyes regarded her with such reverence, and the world fell away save for this bed and its occupants. In the brief interlude she saw herself as he did, in a complexity she’d never fully grasp. The diary served to remind her, to balance against the negative words she’d write of her actions.

On the spur of the moment she reached up and quickly hugged him, taking in his arms as her hands overlapped at his shoulder blades. His strength stopped them from falling over with his hand was sandwiched between their hearts. When she let go he sat back on his haunches, scratched the back of his head and looked down. He frowned, “Look at my shirt, Rose Tyler. The crease is ruined!”

***

After a shower that used more hot water than the tank in her Mum’s flat could hold, Rose admired herself in the surfaces of the communal bathroom that had become reflective with the new-look Doctor. Well, she assumed as much, as Mickey had mentioned them but Jack hadn’t. It wasn’t something Jack would have passed up on in favour of a waterfall spa. The image wasn’t perfect; quite an ethereal outline that accentuated her curves rather than her dimpled skin. But one thing was very clear, she either had lost a lot of weight or her breasts were swollen. Detox fads with Shireen had never had such a dramatic impact, and they were quite tender to the touch as she patted them dry with a towel. Rose sighed and put it as a signal of her now errant periods, in typical timing that she was sharing a bed with the Doctor. Although the massages would come in handy she thought as she wrapped herself in Howard’s ‘borrowed’ blue fleece dressing gown and quickly combed knots out of her hair.

The Doctor was still in the TARDIS wardrobe when she finally made it there, preening in front of a full length mirror. His hair was getting quite long and his fringe defied gravity with the hair gel holding it forwards. The Doctor caught sight of Rose’s reflection and smiled energetically. He turned around and put his hands in his trouser pockets. It was then Rose realised he wasn’t in his dress shirt, just a thin white t-shirt and grey polo shirt, neither of which were tucked in properly. As his hands descended further down, the material normally obscured by his billowing dress shirt or jacket pulled tight across the front of his trousers. Her mind flashed back to what she could have felt that morning. His lessened attire made her very aware of her own, and she further overlapped the dressing gown over her waist and chest. The Doctor seemed his usual cheery morning self, bouncing slightly on his bare feet and tipping his head a little. He considered something whilst she returned his smile and quickly turned back round to the mirror.

“So, what do you think?” he asked as he picked two hangers from the mirror. Each contained a dress shirt, one a light chocolate and the other a steel grey. He caught her eye in the mirror as he held each shirt over his torso in turn. Rose stifled a laugh at the scene before her. For a second she thought she saw a flash of vulnerability in his features front and back. Her eyes fell to the floor and their exposed feet.

“Well I can’t decide without knowing your footwear,” she informed him. With that he put a hanger on either side of the mirror and dashed behind it. He returned with a pair of black topped plimsolls and dropped them in front of his feet. Rose felt another giggle coming on; just different shades of the same styles in shirt and footwear. “New, new Doctor,” she considered his choices and indicated her preference for the brown. He seemed very pleased.

“Change is good,” he said as he pulled the shirt from its hanger. “Changing is good,” he slipped his arms into the sleeves and the arching of his torso peaked his nipples through the scant layers. Rose tried not to stare. “Goodness knows how long it will take to correct the creases in my shirt when the TARDIS hasn’t mended my trousers yet.” That returned her attention to his voice as he mismatched the bottom four buttons and breezed on to answer, “They got snagged on something.” He sat down and reached for some socks, “What are you wearing? Not right now, obviously I can see that.” He slipped on his shoes, “What little there is to see anyway,” and knotted his laces.

Rose blushed and wrapped her single layer around her tighter as he bounced back onto his feet. He spun round looking for something, then pointed at her, “Jacket’s still in the console room!” He frowned, “Something else…” he clicked his fingers before the proverbial light bulb lit up his face, “Tea! Breakfast!” Rose made a face. “Now, now. Have to keep your strength up. No more of this skipping breakfast when not in mortal danger and then eating stomach churning lunch combinations. It’ll do horrible things to your metabolism when adrenaline hasn’t sealed your stomach, and I’m not having your Mother accusing me of -”

“Okay! “ Rose threw her hands up in surrender but retained a smile, “just some tea and toast, nothing too heavy.” 

With that he grinned, turned and stuck his hands back in his trouser pockets. It gave her a display of his very high, noble bottom as he practically skipped away down the steps. He had to know what he was doing. She turned to the rails, and it seemed her choice of clothes were either the ‘theatre production’ variety or skimpy bikinis, neither of which suited the occasion. Looking up the spiralling staircase the choice seemed consistent. She sighed and walked behind the mirror. There she saw some grey tracksuit bottoms and a loose, high neck red jumper; perfect comfort for how tender her skin felt. Rose stroked the TARDIS walls to say thanks, and an agreeable hum sounded in her fingers and mind. Still the idea of recycled TARDIS underwear didn’t appeal, and she braced the day commando, with the TARDIS key tucked behind her as a counterweight to the pendant sitting over her top.

***

“Guess we can’t do the trapeze with this,” Rose said smugly as she ran the pendant along the chain between her thumb and forefinger.

“I guess not,” he said mimicking her cheeky tone, “but it doesn’t exclude the zero gravity hall of mirrors!” Initially he dragged her with his enthusiasm, but she soon matched his pace and laughter. As they joined the short queue for admittance Rose recalled what the Doctor had said about the ride.

“So we stand on that grate,” she pointed to the raised platform where recently admitted people stood, “and we get an electric charge put on us, a charge that’s the same as the floor and mirrors in there, “she gestured to the interior of the ride.

“They harness ionic states of the high iron content in the ground to make it all possible.” The Doctor took an exaggerated step to the side, “Like charges repel...”

“...Opposites attract,” Rose finished by pulling him back towards her, bumping their shoulders together in the process.

“Sheer magnetism, darling,” he purred as he imitated Roger Moore’s Bond. Rose absently wondered if the sonic screwdriver had an ‘undo zip’ function, but her thoughts were quickly interrupted, “The charge wears off after five minutes or so, gets your feet back on the ground.” The Doctor paid while Rose jumped on the charging platform. Momentarily the Doctor bounced up to stand next to her. He took her hand and squeezed it, “Still want to be able to touch you when we’re up there,” he smiled. The red beam in front of their feet disappeared, and he took a dramatic step into thin air.

He hovered on the same level and courtly bowed in front of Rose, “May I have this dance?” She strengthened her grip, but instead of going to him the force made him come to her, his feet resting on the edge of the grating. He put his other arm around her waist, and she stood on his feet as her free arm rested on his shoulder. “No gravity means no weight; only forces apply for momentum, and every action has an equal but opposite reaction. So if I want to go backwards I don’t step behind me but rather,“ he bent his knees slightly and pushed off with his feet, “apply a force in the opposite direction.” Rose giggled as they floated further into the ride, the resistance of air decelerating their progress.

Looking around in the mirrors, their figures combined in the strange curvatures so no-one could tell where one finished and the other began. “Dancing works by mirroring steps, so we should stay together until I twirl you,” he grinned. The spirit of the carnival called a Samba rhythm, and the partners matched each other’s movements. Even without weight it was breathtaking with Rose unable to control her laughter in the lighter air. When the twirl came the Doctor pressed their palms together as they stood facing and exclaimed, “Arch and press!” Rose bent over backwards and felt the Doctor give an energetic push against her palms that twirled her in a somersault. On the way round she caught glimpses of their changing figures exaggerating her breasts, hips and the Doctor’s head; she was having a bad hair day, and her pendant swam into view. In reaching for her necklace her trajectory altered and she spun faster with less surface resistance. The world continued to spin when she returned to being upright. She forgot the forces so in reaching out for the Doctor she found herself moving away and, as the charge was wearing off, towards the ground.

The Doctor quickly raised his arms out in front of him and moved to touch the floor. Rose collected in his outstretched embrace, and he effortlessly gathered her lightened form to his chest. “Very Superman,” she hummed as he carried her over the threshold and back to _terra firma_. She slipped a leg free to stand up but staggered a bit. The Doctor was deft in catching and securing her until she found her feet. With their dancing acrobatics they had attracted a crowd that had yet to disperse. Rose felt very self conscious under their attention; she and the Doctor were covered in loose and layered clothing while the local inhabitants wore tight, practical garments suited to their trade. Their skin was ruddy as the reddened soil and sunny climate favoured, while her pale skin felt very hot under her high collar. She smiled at the onlookers as they milled away and fumbled against the Doctor’s overcoat to find his hand. She caught his eyes; such an odd couple they made. So distant from when her hardest decision was what top she should wear that matched her shoes or vice versa.

“So Rose Tyler, what next?” the Doctor gestured to other rides - the Waltzer, the Pendulum Swing, and other rides that involved messing with the fluid inside your ears.

“Walk in the forest,” she said plainly. The Doctor looked at her slightly bemused. “Well, I will walk in the forest. You stay on the outskirts and stand guard. Give us your coat,” she went to take it off his shoulders, but his perplexed look kept his other hand in its pocket. “I’m not bearing all during a call of nature for whomever to come and look at my rosy cheeks.” Rose had said it in all seriousness but the Doctor failed in hiding a snorted laugh. Her firm intent soon quelled his exterior enjoyment, and he peeled off his overcoat.

Before handing it over something occurred to him, “Didn’t you go before we came out?”

She snatched the coat and huffed, “Yes, but some of us don’t have Super bladders, Man of Steel. Remember all the tea you got me to drink this morning? Detoxification usually comes with more trips to the loo and no,” she pre-empted his argument, ”I am not using the toilets in the fair.” Calming her irritation she added, “Not unless you want me to add the contents of my stomach to the mix.” He grimaced at the conjured image and followed her away from the funfair.

***

Rose carried his coat so she didn’t drag and dirty it on the floor, until she found a suitable spot in the forest. She checked the Doctor wasn’t looking in her direction; he seemed to have found something interesting in the sky, but his back was to her which was all she wanted. His keen senses could probably hear her though. Rose couldn’t go with all this worry so she took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. A wind picked up around her that stirred the coat from its reticence, but the surrounding trees were perfectly still. A percussive roar sounded and it felt like a thunderous warning of an oncoming storm. Not wanting to be caught with her trousers down, she quickly finished, smoothed her attire and joined the Doctor.

To her surprise there wasn’t a single dark cloud in the sky, not even after she looked around the horizon. There was, however, a crescent, copper coloured moon that the Doctor had fixed his attentions to. To a casual observer his face was stoic, but in continuing to gaze Rose felt a pang of loss inside her. She pulled his coat tighter around her, drawing comfort from its smell and associations as she returned her focus to the satellite. Memories of dreams washed over her, and with it a passing longing for home as different songs surfaced in her mind.

“Everything in the Universe sings,” she marvelled. “I saw the lights of the stars; the Sun and the moon calling to each other and to me with such loud symphonies.” Rose looked down at the ground, imagined what sounds it was making to those who could hear, “I felt the Earth move.”

“Was it good for you?” Rose looked up to find herself the sole object of the Doctor’s visual world. Though his voice was carefree, his expression was intensely unreadable, and as her temperature rose under the layers of meaning she tore her eyes away. Two sets of hands found their respective pockets. Rose moistened her lips; the Doctor could probably hear the world chatting to him. It brought a whole new meaning to communing with nature. But something from her waking hours troubled her.

“There’s a different kind of singing just before I wake up,” she bit her lip, “it’s very quiet and soothing, but it’s not the TARDIS”. She recalled a richer account of the nights the Doctor had held her in his bed, “It’s more like a lullaby.” Her confession made the Doctor sheepish and a smile dawned on her, “Is it you?” He nodded once slightly and Rose was contemplative, “I didn’t know you could sing. Properly, I mean. Not that attempt with the clockwork droids.”

He grinned impishly, “My vocal talents have returned with this body, as you may have gathered.” He winked. “Lost it to the gravelled Northern accent and didn’t have much call to use it before that.” He calmed and spoke softly to her, “It was a lullaby in effect. The waves act to heal and to soothe troubled nerves.” A poignant silence spread over them, both in thought.

The Doctor wasn’t one for staying silent for too long. “You should come listen in the bathrooms,” he grinned playfully, “great mirrored acoustics in there now.”

***

Rose declined the Doctor’s invitation to listen to him singing in the shower, or as he’d put it, “to make their own sweet music”. Instead she found herself in the middle of the Doctor’s bed that had some attempt at being made but was still very rumpled. The golden pyjamas didn’t smell bad, so she had put them on again over the pendant and keychain. It turned out that her diary open in her lap had many images of her in the back. Each one was complete; the different positions and expressions she’d made as all the pictures focused on her face. She remembered the Doctor describing it as the key to her essence and smiled to herself that added to the collection of lines at the corners of her eyes, most of which had formed since the Doctor had come into her life. What did her face say about her, especially now she couldn’t hide behind make up? She felt like an open book to him as evident by the illustration in front of her. Although some the emotions depicted weren’t exactly cheerful, they were heartfelt. Maybe the Doctor had forgotten how to be open.

Rose didn’t need all these reminders of happiness, but he did. She carefully ripped out one of the pages and reached for the pen on the ledge. She scribbled on the back before stuffing it into a pocket of Howard’s dressing gown. Judging by how settled the drawers looked, it was the most likely place he’d find it but given how little he slept it would be months before he would get his token. She returned the pen and tucked her diary under her pillows. As she looked at the canopy she idly thought how the Doctor would occupy himself tonight if she just needed a hand to hold; how long he’d let her stay when the TARDIS had finished changing her bed. Above her a lone sparkle glinted brighter than the others, nested in a shimmering cocoon of inky velvet.

In her unconscious state Rose was wrapped in divine golden light, but she was not in seclusion from the blackness. A man with short jet hair was kneeling penitently before her with his hands on her hips, his lips in their cradle. As he looked up at her, pink tendrils wisped between her abdomen and his face. Jack inhaled deeply, sharply, and she whispered to deaf ears, “I bring life.” Rose was pierced by baby blue eyes but not of Jack; he hadn’t heard her singing to him. Her first Doctor replaced his reverent posture, before taking her hands and standing to equal her stature; azure depths now masked by gold spirals. He kissed her with skin too delicate for his worn state. When he pulled back the light dissipated from his opening eyes to reveal brown. “I bring life,” she repeated before falling weakly into his embrace.


	6. Divinity and Mortality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notice: Blood, medical bay

The Doctor came bounding through the TARDIS doors on several highs. He was away with the bagged sugar faeries in his hand and bouncing after the dizzying heights of persuading the acrobatic performers to let him loose on their spring loaded stilts. In his hyper state, he thought it a brilliant idea to get Rose out of bed two hours earlier than she had been recently arising to share in his enthusiasm. After he’d breezed through the lengthy corridors, he found his target where he’d left it, in the middle of his bed. He leapt up onto the footboard, grabbing the bottom bedposts and creating an impressive silhouette.

“Rise and shine!” the Doctor chirped loudly. Rose grunted and hid her head under the covers. “Now, now, there’s no need to be so glum,” the Doctor persisted in a slightly chiding tone while he jostled the bed with his feet. She murmured something like ‘ _I’m not in the mood_ ’. “Oh, that’s right,” he grinned cheekily and let go of the bed posts, “you like it rough and dirty.” With that he fell onto the bed over her.

Upon impact the faeries were released from their bag and rushed upwards over them; both his hands were occupied with tickling her mercilessly. Rose’s squirming was surprisingly subdued under the bedclothes. Instead of traversing the bed, she curled up into a protective ball that seemed to mitigate his ministrations, yet she was hardly laughing. He grabbed the edge of the covers as the sugar hovered at its peak, intent on exposing her to his attentions. But as he revealed her face and their skin brushed he knew something was wrong, and the faeries fell unceremoniously around them. Rose wretched; tears pricked in her eyes with the force.

Rose shoved the Doctor off her as she staggered to be upright and ran, trying not to redecorate the TARDIS corridors with the contents of her stomach on her way to the bathrooms. The door to the first toilet cubicle banged against the walls, creating an echo across the reflective surfaces as she leaned her head over the pan. The cold of the floor seeped into her knees as she lurched, her hands grabbing her abdomen to ease the tension. Her hair was drawn away from her face by the Doctor and tucked into the neck of the dressing gown he was draping over her.

“Fleeces are good,” he said in a slightly calmer tone. “They help regulate your temperature better. That’s why you wrap babies in fleeces rather than duvets, as their body temperature changes so rapidly fleece is the only way to keep up and keep them at an ambient, baby friendly temperature.” He rubbed an open palm up and down her back in a warming, soothing gesture.

The Doctor’s voice became sombre over her well being, “Are you alright?” During a lull in heaving, Rose lifted her head up and down a few times in assent. With that, he returned to a happier inflection, “Stomach disagreeing with the suspect food input again?”

Rose gagged a few more times on an empty stomach, spitting pungent bile into the water below, which added to her nausea. She raised her head up and away to take a steadying breath and lifted a hand to wipe the errant teardrops from her eyes. This wasn’t detox. Or periods. Or strange food combinations. Rose turned her head to look at the man crouched behind her who gave her a sympathetic, lopsided smile. Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought; the _male_ she’d spent a week in bed with. But who didn’t think about her that way she sighed and laughed to herself; she’d like to think sex with the Doctor would be more memorable. No, the only thing she was getting close to was the TARDIS.

Nervously Rose cleared her throat, “The TARDIS can’t make me pregnant, can she?”

The Doctor’s eyes widened, taking in his surroundings until he connected the scene to the question. “Oh! No, her essence is feminine, and she needs a masculine donor to grow little TARDIS’ to pass on her genetic memory and sense of décor,” he rattled off. Rose closed her eyes and scarcely shook her head, possibly thinking he was joking. “That’s how pre-type 50 TARDIS’ were made," he announced on his abating sugar rush. "Strictly speaking, she has the knowledge of time and space at her disposal and if she really wanted to she could. Ever wondered why Jack hardly flirted with the TARDIS?” He smiled as he had Rose’s attention again. “Oh yes, many humanoids from the fifty first century could become pregnant — it’s how the human race expanded so quickly - and I don't remember him stocking up on contraceptives.”

As the details continued, Rose reminded herself that she did ask him after a sugar dose. His eyes focused distantly, “He did spend a lot of time standing in the rain when we visited Earth in the 21st century, mind.” His enthusiasm returned to the central topic, “Then again the TARDIS and I are bonded in many ways, so she could use my genetic material to -" Rose stared at him with that last sentence; at the thought of quite what all this TARDIS stroking meant in terms of ‘maintenance’ and the implication that the Doctor soon backtracked from. “But she would have detected the pregnancy with the foreign body scan which came back clean,” he blurted out to finish.

“Cup of tea?” he suggested. Rose croaked her approval and he helped her up as he backed out of the cubicle.

***

He matched her pace to the kitchen, which was hindered by the tightness in her diaphragm and the drag of Howard’s dressing gown trailing behind them. The Doctor was gesturing with his hands and providing a soundtrack about his morning antics with the acrobatic troupe, but Rose wasn’t really listening. She was lost in thoughts about Captain Jack, as now she had more memories of the Game Station there were things that didn’t add up.

“How did Jack survive the Dalek attack?” He didn’t seem to hear her. “After he said goodbye to us, he wouldn’t have hid in a barrel. The Daleks made it to floor 500 - they wouldn’t have let anyone live.” 

The Doctor stilled his hand movements but his feet and mouth still flowed, “He didn’t.”

Rose stopped, confused. “What do you mean?” She started to walk briskly to catch up, “I thought you said he was busy rebuilding the Earth.” Hurt seeped into her voice, “Did you lie to me?” At that the Doctor abruptly stopped, one hand bothering the hairs on the back of his neck. Rose went past him before turning around to see pain mirrored in his eyes that was quickly masked behind an unreadable expression.

He took a very slow breath and regarded her, his hands sliding into his trouser pockets. “What do you remember?”

“Remember about what?” she asked, irritated. “I didn’t see him -” There was a pregnant pause as her mouth was caught slightly open; she hadn’t seen him with mortal eyes. Rose remembered the dream she had last night of Jack kneeling before her, of the words she’d said to his resting form.

I bring life.

As Rose heard the words replayed in her mind, she felt sick to the stomach. Her hands covered her mouth and midriff as she leaned weakly into the TARDIS wall; partners in crime in creating unnatural life. But there was no soothing hum behind her this time, and Rose knew it was solely her doing, the bad-behaving wolf. Tears streamed unchecked down her face and over her hand at the thought of what she’d done to him. Jack had died a Hero’s death only to be an enigma amongst destruction and devastation.

The Doctor remained before her, closed, stilled and silent. Why wasn’t he reaching to comfort her if it was okay? Why hadn’t he left her on the Game Station if she’d done something unforgivable? Surely, he hadn’t been that wary of her Mother’s threats at her daughter’s safety? Under her study the Doctor shifted, waiting almost. Rose wondered why the Doctor would be uncomfortable as they already understood each other’s responsibility of creating Bad Wolf. Then she realised the blindingly obvious.

“You left him!” her voice rose in decibel and pitch as her tears were replaced with incredulity.

The Doctor added a smiling edge to his serious words, “Bit pre-occupied with getting you safely on board and,” he paused for effect, rocked once on his heels, “you know, _dying._ ” Rose looked away from him. He murmured gravely below her hearing range, “The damage had been done.”

Her fingers trembled in front of her face, hiding the grief. Rose’s mind became weighed down, first with happy memories of Jack; how he explained in lay terms the Doctor’s tinkering in the TARDIS, his human perspective of the worlds they were taken to. Then clear thought became suppressed as her insecurities came to bear, of the trust that was broken. Jack had said goodbye, but to die, not to be left alive and alone.

“You just leave us. All of us.” Her words were solemn in the knowledge that for all the influence she’d had on the Doctor, some things never changed. It left a bitter taste in her mouth as salt threatened to be added from fresh tears. She swallowed back the inevitable conclusion, refusing to let him see her pain.

Unspoken words hung in the space between them; _is that what you’re going to do to me?_

Rose missed his pained expression as his mask slipped in the silence. He nodded his head to himself and steeled his breath, formulating a response to protect. “Rose...” his plea lingered in the air. It took forever for her to hear and respond by slipping her hand down to her throat, lifting her chin and blinking away tears to focus on him. He spoke calmly and slowly, “After I took the Vortex from you, your mind shut down to protect itself.” He paused to make sure she was listening, which she was. He swallowed, “Can you imagine the questions Jack would have asked us — the regeneration, you getting back, him being resurrected?” She nodded imperceptibly as she followed his trail, “Would you really have wanted to go through all that then?” 

His words struck a chord within her. Rose moved her hand to her chest to feel for the pendant between the opened fleece and beneath the satin of the pyjamas. Through the maddening thoughts that overwhelmed her lay a simple truth; he had done it for her. His main thought when he was dying was of her, to protect her. In gathering the fleece between her fingers she remembered how difficult it had been over Christmas, with the new Doctor and the huge gaps in her memory that were forbidden until now. The Doctor stood patiently as she remembered.

As Rose looked at him with some understanding he smiled slightly at her, “I didn’t want to inflict regeneration on you in that place.” A small laugh escaped her at his words; surreal that anything humorous could come of the events on the Game Station.

The darkened depths of his eyes were weighted with truth, and she felt something tug at her insides in his direction. She inched forwards and his body language opened up to her; his hands coming out of his pockets, hers from holding the dressing gown together. As Rose shuffled towards him she briefly hoped now she remembered they could go and find Jack to explain. But suddenly her abdomen was attacked by a stabbing pain, and the Doctor keened forward and placed the heel of his hand at the place of his discomfort, a mirroring of Rose.

The Doctor couldn’t quite believe it, and excited surprise lit his features. Rose was right, menstrual cramps really were painful; simultaneously sharp and dull. More importantly, the fact he could feel them within himself meant he’d established a mental connection with Rose without realising. He had no idea he could create such intimate bonds with a human without maintained physical contact. It explained a lot: the bed play, the jewellery shopping, the gregarious flirting, the bed play, the clothes. Just another awareness in his mind that, as his mind dashed through the memories, started the first night they’d shared a bed and had been getting stronger over the week. Mentally he reached out to her, his own joyousness cloaking from his mind the negative turmoil evident on Rose’s face as he looked at her, within her.

“Get out of my mind!” she screamed at him, anger and grief pouring out of her. The Doctor seemed dumbfounded, his incoherent sounds breaking the bristling silence. Rose felt violated; her mind tired, her heart aching, her body incredibly sore. She protectively wrapped the dressing gown around her and pinned the Doctor with a furious glare. No explanation or remorse for his actions came, and she pictured a huge steel door in front of her conscious mind and slammed it shut. The Doctor’s head flinched backwards with the impact and Rose stormed back down the corridor and out of sight.

***

She didn’t know where she was going. She certainly wasn’t going to his room, and she didn’t know if her room was ready yet. There was always a bed for her at the flat, though explaining to her Mum this passed week would be a nightmare. She felt trapped in the confusion, betrayed even by her body. Menstrual cramps couldn’t possibly be this painful, and she almost fell into a wall when another dull twinge struck. The TARDIS hummed into her lower back, which helped the almost crippling discomfort.

Things had happened too quickly even for the Doctor. Despite Rose’s echoing door slam and departure, he was spurred on with the incredible notion that for a brief conscious interlude he didn’t feel alone. He reached out to her in ways natural to him, with gaining physical footsteps and psychic feelers to ask permission to be with her, within her. The door hadn’t remained, and he picked up on her surface thoughts and feelings, of broken trust and a bed to collect her thoughts. There was a lesser twinge in his abdomen now he knew to anticipate it, still unsure of the true nature of their union. He kept his thoughts guarded from her to allow Rose her own counsel, letting a small empathic link develop instead so she could understand what this meant to him.

Rose, however, remained intolerant to his mental ministrations, and they were whipped by a frosty reception. Angrily he pulled back his singed feelers and halted his footsteps. Allowing his emotions to bubble to the surface released a tempest that was verbally directed at her. “Go on then,” he snarled, “back to your own room!” Before he could get his rumbling emotions in check he drew on her final, childish thoughts and struck out, “See if the TARDIS has built a nursery!” His wiry frame was taut, his strong muscles tensing as the frustration ripped through him. The Doctor held a very deep breath and pressed his tongue into the roof of his pursed mouth as he regained control from the storm.

There was another pain in his abdomen that would have been the strongest of the three if he weren’t mitigating it. The connection with Rose persisted, despite his attempts to source it and remove its temptation. The TARDIS hummed at the discord between her charges and urged the Doctor to go to the child. He dismissed her at first, so she drew his attention to a void spot in his mind. As he studied the emptiness he identified it as Rose’s cognition. A horrible thought registered; Rose was unconscious but not asleep. She’d fainted.

As he traversed the short distance to her form, he felt guilty that he’d caused her mind to shut down in hastening to create a stronger link. Upon seeing her prone body crumpled on the floor the feeling amplified; he’d been selfish to push her. But guilt wouldn’t help her now. His eyes scanned her body as his fingers cleared hair from her face and reached for her hand. Her cheek was clammy with perspiration and her fingers damp with blood. He checked the walls and floor for an impact point to injure but found nothing. The Doctor felt yet another twinge, this one migrating to his lower back, and he knew it couldn’t be normal menses. He parted the dressing gown to see she had bled through the pyjama material, staining the colour of life with that of pain and death.

As the pool between her thighs grew at an abnormal rate, the colour drained from her skin and she began to flinch. He grazed his knuckles on the coral floor in putting his arms under her legs and shoulder blades and lifting her. Her body sagged, making awkward angles and weight distribution. He had to throw her slightly upwards to get the dressing gown away from his strides, causing her head to loll back. The TARDIS shifted her interiors without instruction, and the journey to the medical bay was short.

***

The Doctor carefully deposited Rose on the examination couch and removed the dressing gown that had almost fallen off of its own accord. He whipped off his jacket, discarded it somewhere and rolled up his sleeves. He put a hand under the hem of her pyjamas above her navel while the other went beneath her hips with a towel, intending to lift her up to remove the trousers. As his fingers hooked the waistband, the skin contact murmured to him and he paused, placing his palm fully below her navel to hear more clearly. But what her body told him didn’t make sense.

Rose was pregnant. He knew, well, thought differently; the TARDIS would have detected it, warned him in the knowledge that time travel harmed foetal development. He himself couldn’t perceive life within her and hadn’t the third night they’d slept together either. There wasn’t even an echo of passed life, as this level of blood loss signified miscarriage. Questions of why her body would think it was pregnant or what had triggered the spontaneous abortion would have to wait. Now it was important to control the bleeding.

He removed her trousers and threw them into a basket. The sight of Rose’s body coated in her own blood made his stomach stir but not for physical queasiness. Though she wouldn’t feel it in her unconscious state, he wanted to alter the link somehow and take the pain from her and into him. The Doctor retrieved an internal imaging scanner and positioned it over her uterus. The weight depressed her skin causing her hip bones to protrude, adding to her emaciated appearance. He switched it on, altered the visual depth field and studied the relayed images. What he saw astounded him; how temporally advanced the pregnancy had been with the size of the gestational sac, which was empty - an anembryonic pregnancy. The sac had partially detached, probably the physical cause of the miscarriage.

The Doctor put the scanner to one side and retrieved his jacket and the sonic screwdriver. He adjusted the setting and replaced the scanner to seek his target. With a short pulse of the screwdriver the material was cut off fully, free to fall. Rose shivered, and he looked up to see her stirring though fighting a losing battle to regain consciousness. The Doctor secured the screwdriver between his teeth, returned the scanner to its shelf and pulled out syringes and anaesthetics from various drawers. He couldn’t find a suitable vein in her arms after much patting. Frustrated with her extremities, he tugged his sleeve down and wiped at smeared blood on her inner thigh. In stretching the skin he found an injection site, then dealt with the unhygienic materials; the needle disposed of safely, his shirt added to the basket with her trousers.

Returning to her body, he noticed the weight of the scanner had imprinted on her skin, its natural suppleness lacking. Dropping the screwdriver into his clean hand, he changed the setting and played it over the area to steady the endometrial lining loss. When he was satisfied of a normal flow, he pocketed the device in his trousers, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before dropping his arm back down. In the interlude his hand drifted to her stomach and gently rested there. His touch was hesitant at first on her exposed form, her final thoughts of broken trust replaying in his mind as he looked to her lifeless face. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her, softly stroking her skin with his thumb in a comforting gesture. A ghost of a smile traced her lips, reminding him they were still connected more than physically.

Her skin developed Goosebumps but for being cold rather than in response to his touch. He filled a bowl with warm water and put it between her calves. “Rose, I know you can hear me in some way,” he waited for a response but none came, “so I want to reassure you that the warm, probing friction you feel next is a sponge that’s cleaning your skin.” Duly the Doctor began to bathe the blood from her skin with clinical objectivity and a friend’s gentle touch. When he’d finished, he located absorbent pads and surgical tape, then thought better of it as he considered the coarse hair on her thighs. The Doctor laughed to himself at his predicament as he second guessed Rose’s reaction to her waking up in either her underwear, TARDIS underwear or with a tampon. Added to this, he didn’t want to leave her side. He settled on bandage strips looping up to her hips and being secured with tape. It would likely prove an interesting discussion he thought wryly as he draped a thick blanket over her and tucked it under feet and arms, leaving her hands above the material.

The Doctor pulled out a stool from under a desk, which drew his attention to the scattered clothes on the floor. He folded his jacket and draped it over the seat. In picking up the dressing gown, he was surprised that something fell out of a pocket and was about to put it back in until he read his name on the folded paper. He opened it to reveal a picture of Rose, one that he’d sketched of her the first night she didn’t need him. Strange that she would remove it from her diary, until he realised she’d put it in his possession. He could see text on the other side so he turned it over to read

_Something lives only as long as the last person who remembers it._  
Memory is like fire, radiant and immutable.  
Love, Rose. 

 

The Doctor blinked away the threatening tears and reaffirmed his barriers to protect her. Looking at her true figure, he hoped he would have more than memories after today. He put the dressing gown to his face and inhaled their mingled scent, finding as much comfort in it as she did from his coat, before adorning her with it. He slipped the drawing into his trouser pockets and sat by her side, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay with me,” he murmured quietly though he soon regretted it, afraid of influencing her when it was her decision to make.

To the backdrop of her breathing, the Doctor pondered Rose’s condition that he assumed began with helping unlock her memories. The advanced stage of her pregnancy could be explained by radiation modification while they were holding in the Vortex. Yet it didn’t make sense that Rose’s body would have kept up when radiation only affected pre-pubescent humans. Biologically Rose was no child. She could reproduce, but it was impossible without a genetic donor. Foreign bodies would have been detected, but there was no-one at the fair that had known her in such a way; while prevalent his physical imprint was only skin deep, and Rose wasn’t chimera. It was impossible and yet it had been, and still they were somehow connected.

He smiled to himself; like so much of their relationship it defied convention and explanation. There was no mortal cause for her pregnancy or their union. They were miraculous products of divine intervention, and suddenly it made sense. Bad Wolf persisted, bringing them together and creating life. It also explained her rapid healing, as the Vortex should have caused her more physical harm. The only natural thing to come of the Game Station was his reflection in the mirror. If his thoughts were correct, then he had an idea of how to remove their link, as he’d done so long ago. He hesitated, unsure of how she’d react to the physical intimacy, but he was driven by the knowledge that she didn’t want his presence within her. “Forgive me,” he whispered as he leaned forward and softly, affectionately pressed his lips to her minds eye. There was a pleasant itch between the cushions of flesh as their link intensified on contact, but despite the temptation it presented he would let go for her sake. He would be with her only in ways she was prepared to offer.


	7. Protection

It was quiet when Rose woke up. The lights seemed very bright through her eyelids and opening them confirmed that. She blinked rapidly to adjust her sight and shuffled her body, discovering she was sore in her torso. “Doctor?” she croaked, realising she hadn’t had a drink today. In fact, the last thing she remembered was being in a corridor with much softer lighting. Someone squeezed her hand.

“Rose, you’re in the medical bay.” The Doctor’s soothing voice drew her eyes open fully to look at him. “I brought you here after you’d fainted,” he said cautiously.

Rose tried to sit up but her midriff protested and she felt disorientated. The Doctor quickly steadied her, “You may feel woozy from the anaesthetic I gave you.” He adjusted pillows behind her so she could rest comfortably upright. “You were right, Mother knew best,” he said with a hint of humour, but before she had time to contemplate the words the humour had been replaced with a serious expression. “You’ve had a miscarriage to a phantom pregnancy.”

Instinctively Rose touched a hand over her belly and looked down at all the layers she was covered with. A great mix of emotions engulfed her at the information: sorrow that she’d lost a child before she knew she was pregnant; nervousness at the life changing responsibility that had passed; uncertainty as to how pregnancy could be phantom; and confusion as to its occurrence. She looked at the Doctor with glistening eyes to see his stubble had caught up with him. He was wearing only a grey polo shirt over his t-shirt, but it could easily have been breast plate for how guarded he was. She tried to speak, but her parched throat wouldn’t comply. At that the Doctor got off his stool and made a glass of water, which she took. “Slowly,” he instructed at Rose’s spluttering.

Rose drank in sips; the chill in the water made phlegm in her throat that she swallowed against. When she couldn’t stomach anymore the Doctor took the glass and looked at her intently, patiently. “How can, I mean, could this be?” Rose gestured to her stomach.

He took a deep breath, “Remember I told you your body was detoxifying from the woken knowledge?” Rose nodded. “I thought it was just to remove the toxins,” he admitted, “but it seems your reaction was more intricate. It’s been recreating everything you experienced at the Game Station, as Bad Wolf.” Rose’s eyes went very wide. “Now, I assume you’ve been having dreams, memories of that time. Any of them involve creating life?” Rose thought back over the past week then blushed at some very vivid physical encounters with the Doctor.

The Doctor smirked, guessing Rose remembered her dreaming desires of the third night after waking her memories, “Now, now, I’m not Jack’s father.” He was lifted by Rose’s smiling embarrassment but didn’t stray too far from explaining, otherwise he would forever hide behind humour. “Nothing so visceral. Remember anything more divinely life giving, while we were holding in the Vortex about a week ago?”

Rose thought back to the first two nights they had slept together, the recall much easier now. The first night had been nothing more than the memories he had already seen within her mind, but the second night she remembered holding one tiny ember and making it bright. The images made so much more sense now, and she nodded to the Doctor that she’d identified the trigger for her condition. But if it was thoughts, memories that were creating these physical symptoms then… Rose figured out this morning’s blood loss. She spoke slowly to make sure it made sense, “So the miscarriage was triggered by knowing Jack had died, or been left behind.”

It seemed to satisfy the Doctor, and he nodded absently, “The radiation in the Vortex advanced the pregnancy, so I was able to see it on the scanner.”

Rose suddenly felt very self conscious, and the rub of wool as she shifted her legs indicated she was naked from the waist down. Her stomach growled, and the Doctor heard. It seemed to reanimate him, as he leapt off his stool and stretched.

“Right then!” he announced cheerily, “Breakfast in bed. Well, brunch in bed.” He scratched the back of his neck and unsteadily added, “Okay to leave you now you’re awake.” With that he disappeared out of the room, leaving Rose to ponder.

Tentatively Rose lifted the covers to see her nude form. She was incredibly clean and there seemed to be surgical tape on her hips holding bandages in place. She reached a hand down to feel a makeshift sanitary towel between her legs, grinning at his attempts at feminine hygiene that softened into a thoughtful smile. He hadn’t left her, didn’t want to leave her if his reluctant display just now was anything to go by. He could have easily gone while she was unconscious and she wouldn’t have known, or gone rooting through her underwear, which would have made her uncomfortable. Then again, she’d just been scanned and intimately bathed without qualm. Further thought was delayed by the Doctor reappearing with a tray of tea and bacon sandwiches. “That was fast,” she sounded surprised, “TARDIS shifting her interiors again?” 

“No, I ran,” he replied casually as he presented her with breakfast from the tray that had slight spillages. She ate slowly, her stomach not yet woken properly from the anaesthetic. It gave her time to take in her surroundings: the dressing gown comforting against the sterility of the room; their combined clothes abandoned in a basket stained by the blood of remembrance; the Doctor who had stayed even though he didn’t like hospitals. Having already finished his food, he was looking over his mug at her and Rose felt she had to say something.

“That’s another of your shirts I’ve ruined,” she grasped at her environs. He poorly hid a grin, ceramic masking only his lips not his eyes, but soon his expression became guarded, anticipating. Rose frowned, trying to fathom his mood changes then remembered that morning. Her furrowed brow became one of concentration as she pictured a door and slammed it a few times. The Doctor didn’t flinch and she regarded him; not with aversion, more so with curiosity, “Are you in my mind?” It seemed to be what he expected her to say.

“No,” he stated. “I’ve only been in your mind twice; first when I helped reawaken your memories, second …” the words started to fail him as he remembered Rose’s emotional pain that was now opening up before him, caused by his selfishness. Despite his own vulnerability, he wanted her to know why and held her eyes, “The second time was this morning, after we shared that abortive cramp.” She seemed surprised but receptive to his words, “That was the first I knew about our connection, and I was so surprised.” He smiled in awe and looked into the distance as he remembered. “To me,” his voice was almost a whisper, “my people, it’s as natural as reaching out a hand to hold.” The Doctor returned his eyes to hers and he willed her to understand; despite the truth of his words, there was a passing guilt across his features, an unspoken apology. She nodded imperceptibly, and he allowed himself a gentle smile. “The time in-between it was you, Rose Tyler, who was in my mind.”

Rose’s eyes went wide again, a blend of shock, wonder and curiosity that he was content to satisfy. “Humans can’t form telepathic links. But you, Rose Tyler,” he paused for effect, giving her a confident smile on his assessment, “you are something special.” Her breath seemed to catch with his words, and she momentarily looked away. “The Bad Wolf, even as just a memory, disregarding the rules of the Universe to bring us together.”

With that Rose looked back up at him, seemingly into him. There was a moment’s pause before she secured her mug in her lap and reached her arms out to him, inviting him into a hug. The Doctor happily accepted, bending down and gently holding her. He smiled to himself, awed by her compassion in the face of all he’d put her through.

The moment didn’t call for words, but he couldn’t help himself, “I can’t get rid of you.” She hugged him tighter, her strength returning as the medication wore off and she seemed to sniffle into his shoulder. He lightened the conversation to belay her tears, “I’m not looking forward to your Mother’s sign language.”

Rose was puzzled and pulled out of the hug to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “You know how she talks with her hands by connecting her palm with my face,” he rubbed his cheek as if in memory, “for not protecting you.”

A sudden thought struck Rose about the prospect of explaining this past week to her Mum. _Hi, sorry I haven’t phoned. Here’s some bloodied laundry. They’re the Doctor’s pyjama’s, he and I have shared a bed for a week. The blood’s from a miscarriage to a ghost pregnancy that I dreamed into existence; we haven’t had sex._ She decided it would be best not to mention it; her Mum wouldn’t believe it anyway and would look disapprovingly at the Doctor for all that had happened when it was her doing, her choice to become Bad Wolf.

With this lighter atmosphere Rose enjoyed the remainder of her tea. She handed the empty mug to the Doctor, who put in it on the tray and began organising the crockery. Her life giving dream floated into her conscious and she wanted to share it with the Doctor, “Jack was a spark in my hand, like the dust of the Daleks.” Her brow furrowed in concentration, “But I made the spark really bright, brighter than all the others.” Ceramic abruptly scraped. There was a sense of foreboding in her stomach; only one other bright spark featured in her dream and she thought it was the Doctor. She licked her lips nervously, “Doctor?” He stopped what he was doing, a sag appearing in his back, “How much life did I give him?”

When he lifted up his head, he swallowed roughly; looked resigned to telling her glistening eyes and quivering chin. “A lot more than I have.” He hesitated, ”Perpetual life.” A cough began wracking sobs and she veered away from the Doctor’s attempt to comfort her physically. He didn’t push the issue, just stood and watched helplessly as Rose dealt with the information alone.

She hadn’t been in control, and whatever she’d done to Jack, regardless the sentiment, was horrible. She had no idea if he wouldn’t age, could live forever in a quiet life, actually be killed or would regenerate like the Doctor. Through blurry vision she saw the Doctor before her, his hands hovering outside his pockets. She laughed darkly to herself; the Doctor had reached out to her and she’d shunned him. What she’d picked up from the Doctor’s mind all week was that he was lonely. Jack must be lonely, and if the Doctor had known Jack’s longevity there had to be a bigger reason he’d left him behind.

She took a shuddering breath to regain some composure, “Why did you leave Jack behind?” She interjected before he could repeat what he’d said that morning, though it was hypocritical given her stance of not telling her Mum the whole truth, “Don’t protect me.”

There was still resignation in the Doctor’s face but it was married with a growing pride. He nodded that he wouldn’t shelter her and began. “Altering life and death on such a scale created a vulnerable point in space and time. I was beginning to regenerate in an uncontrolled way - for absorbing the Vortex - releasing energy into that weakness. We had to leave when we did, no waiting, no exceptions. Not without risking opening the fabric of reality to Vortex Vampires and Reapers.”

However the Doctor expected her to react to this information, self deprecating laughter wasn’t it. The anaesthetic was having some interesting side effects. She wiped away the drying tears from around her eyes, “Do you think I’ll ever be able to do anything on my own without it involving Reapers?”

He gave a slight, lopsided smile as his hand played with the hair on his nape. She calmed down as she realised he was prepared to take the blame for her actions when it only benefited her; something tickled her stomach at the thought. A silence fell over them as Rose continued to think. She started to play with the hem of the dressing gown, wary of how requests were received by the Doctor when Reapers were involved, “Can we go back for Jack? I mean, now we can explain it to him.” The Doctor sighed but not in a condescending way. “You can teach him how to cope. He must be lonely, like y—“. Rose quickly closed her mouth to terminate that sentence, not wanting to poke at the Doctor’s wounds. For a fleeting moment he looked vulnerable, regarding her as if he was wondering what she’d seen in him. It quickly passed.

“We can’t. The TARDIS won’t set foot within 50 years of that place, because of Jack’s condition. He rubs her up the wrong way. Besides, he could be anywhere.” She nodded that she understood but looked incredibly disappointed. He didn’t want her to dwell on things she couldn’t change or rectify. “I’ll tell you what I do know,” a smile crept into his voice, “I know there’s an impressive fireworks display tonight.”

Rose scoffed, "How can you switch so quickly to think about other things?"

“Life goes on,” he let out a long sigh. “I don’t forget, but life is worthless if we dwell on what could have been at the expense of now.” She hummed a response at the reminder, seemingly less convinced this time than when Mickey had stayed behind. Unsatisfied that she comprehended, more earnest words slipped out, “If I had sat and brooded over the Time War waiting for death, I never would have met you.”

He had a youthful body, but with that sentence his eyes showed his true years. It was a short lived affirmation as Rose began to jerk her bottom on her couch exclaiming, “Ouch! My bum’s gone numb! Damn pins and needles!”

The Doctor managed to hide his amusement, lifted the dressing gown up and looked away. Rose’s shrieks and expletives at her body and surgical dressing continued as he heard the flap of the blanket shifting and her clammy feet adhering to the cold floor. He felt a pull on the material as her arms slipped into the sleeves and her hands tugged at the hem for him to release it. The Doctor looked back to see Rose combing her fingers through her hair to calm her ruffled exterior. She looked beautiful to him, and his hands slipped back into his trouser pockets to feel the parchment reminder. He would have to invest in a frame for it; Rose’s presence made his sleep more bearable.

***

It seemed everybody who had attended the fair over the week had gathered to watch the firework display. She and the Doctor sat upwind, away from the smoke part way up a hill for the best view of the night sky. It was an ideal backdrop for a pyrotechnic display with a pitch black canvas unmarred by light pollution, revealing distant galaxies and a waning moon. It was much better than the millennium display; better than the first New Year with the new Doctor and the remnants of ash by their feet. The company made the occasion, who was sharing his coat as a ground blanket. He was lying out flat with his hands clasped behind his head whilst she sat cross legged with her hands loosely in her lap.

“Aren’t fireworks bad for the environment?” Rose asked in a lull between batches, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Not these,” he informed her, “they readily extract the iron from the surface soil to make the bulk of the fireworks. They’re loaded with compounds to restore the biosphere from trampling and foreign substances, and the explosion scatters them over the extent of the fair.” A smile crept into his voice as his heels bounced in the grass, “Good as new.”

Rose smiled at his explanation and returned her attention to the next set. As the show continued, she identified the transitional metals that created the different colours; the Doctor with a proud glint in his eye visible even in the darkness. If only school chemistry had been this interesting, the teachers so invested in their pupil’s learning and experience of the world around them. She only watched a firework when the powder ignited, her concentration lulling until the next one burst into light.

The Doctor watched the fireworks during their ascent, climax, and as fluttering ashes settling below. Rose shifted next to him, her arms enveloping closer around her abdomen though there had been no drop in temperature.

“Is everything alright?” his voice was full of concern in this watchful waiting period. She dismissed it as normal period pains without turning her head. His fingers itched to rub her lower back but he diverted their attention to unbuttoning his pinstriped jacket, sitting up and draping it over her shoulders. She accepted it gratefully, and he made an effort to properly tuck in his shirt and smooth down his tie before resting back on his hands.

During the final exhibition of impressively high fireworks, Rose felt a fleck of water on her cheek. She wiped it away, an act she had seemingly been doing all week, and it caught the Doctor’s attention. She looked at him and held her hand out, palm up in anticipation of more raindrops. A few intermittent spots collected on her skin. “That’s a shame, it’s been lovely weather all week,” she remarked. 

“Some of the chemicals excite the atmosphere into raining; it helps the restorative compounds to be absorbed into the soil,” he reeled off as he stood up off his coat and realigned his frame. He held out his hand to her, “It also serves to disperse the crowds.” At his hopeful smile Rose took the Doctor’s hand and let him help her up. He picked his coat up off the floor and held it above their heads as shelter from the quickening rain. Their outer arms held it in place as their free hands sought their counterpart. Realising they weren’t going to run, Rose let his better vision guide them back to the TARDIS.

***

Her diary was waiting outside her bedroom door when she returned there, having left the Doctor tending to the TARDIS console. Her new double bed seemed a blend of the Doctor’s style and her own with a deep wood headboard, a plain purple duvet and lighter coloured pillow that was made of the impossibly nice material. She began stripping her clothes on the way to her bathroom; depositing them wherever she removed them, save for her necklace and underwear. She kept those on while she adjusted the shower controls, until she felt something slide downwards in her intimate flesh, at which point she made a direct line to the toilet.

She caught a mass on toilet paper and after a steadying breath brought it from beneath her and into her vision. It was nothing special to look at, just a small mess of translucent grey sacs and browning membrane. But the implication of this life that wasn’t and would never be; her Mother wanted grandchildren, but that wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t shy of responsibility, but for all her adventures with the Doctor this lucky escape before her eyes felt the most consequential. She smiled quietly; of all that she’d learned this week of Jack’s fate and still she didn’t want to leave this life or the Doctor. Through this period she never thought the child was his, she trusted him instinctively. It was just that morning that was overwhelming. Even though it was just her tissues, Rose made an observance before flushing the toilet and stepping into the shower.

Her thoughts continued as she prepared for bed. She imagined Jack with a broadsword battling the Sycorax, wondered if she would have accepted the new Doctor if he hadn’t proven himself Christmas day; if she had known she’d caused the regeneration if it would have been any easier for her, or trying to explain it to Mickey and Mum. On catching the necklace on her pyjama buttons her reflections quietened. After much deliberation she removed it and returned it to its nocturnal resting place on her bedside cabinet.

It was a lonely expanse of mattress as she climbed and sat in the middle of her bed; better with two. The TARDIS hummed, and Rose realised that under Doctor’s orders of laying off the meditation until she was better this would be the strongest sense she would have with the ship for a while. She turned around and placed her palm flat against the coral walls above her headboard. “Watch over him,” she whispered and her skin tingled with affirmation. She settled back down into the comforting material.

When Rose closed her eyes it was to normal, peaceful sleep.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story. The next chapter is the Confidential, where I explain the inspiration, like the show did with the episodes and Confidentials.


	8. Eyes Open Confidential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't part of the story. It's the Confidential to explain the making of said story.

Eyes Open Commentary

I adore the Doctor Who Confidential. I have a disability (CFS/ME) and everything I do is a great effort. Writing a commentary allows me to inform people about the thought processes that kept me awake for many nights. Join me and my rambling into the making of the Eyes Open series.

 

I Conception  
This story was originally just the When I Close My Eyes chapter as a stand alone. It was written for the LJ dwliterotoca prompt "I promise to hold you all night." It always bothered me how Rose went from not remembering anything of Bad Wolf at the Game Station to boasting about her exploits in Doomsday. In School Reunion Rose says to Sarah Jane that she has met the Dalek Emperor, not destroyed him which would be a big bonus in their cat fight. In Doomsday Mickey is surprised to hear about Rose destroying the Emperor (not sure if he's heard of the Time War) and is also surprised at the Doctor mentioning the fall of Arcadia but Rose isn't.

To put it simply, I wrote the six part dependent sequel because people asked after reading When I Close My Eyes. Admittedly what was asked for was Rose remembering Jack’s fate and that comes in chapter five ~14,300 words later! I had hesitation at first, as I knew Jack would be returning to Doctor Who in season three and so far all my prose slots into canon. My Muse, however, had other ideas. It became pretty clear that Rose would remember pretty much everything if she was going to remember Jack and it would be natural to remember in the days following her memory being ‘woken’.

Regarding the timing in Doctor Who — between Age of Steel and Idiot’s Lantern — this was already decided with When I Close My Eyes. I wanted the Doctor to have memorised Rose’s face before TIL. They are evidently closer in TIL than AoS (read: full body contact riding a motorcycle) and it’s fertile ground for fanfic writers in bridging the gap between losing Mickey and it just being Rose and the Doctor. Rose seems to have devoted herself to him, but it’s not until Rose’s face disappears that the Doctor starts really opening up to her, which is finally unleashed in the Satan Pit. I think David Tennant said that Rose was very real to the Doctor in TSP when faced with a creature that defied his understanding and having lost the TARDIS. It’s like he realises in TIL she’ll be gone soon (to his longevity) and he doesn’t want to waste time, but there’s a millennia of social conditioning and rules to break through first.

I finished writing this before season three started to air in the UK. Imagine my happiness in Smith & Jones when he carries Martha and then the Shakespeare Code with the Doctor seemingly oblivious to pillow talk and mentioning that he and Rose shared a bed. Then in Gridlock, the Doctor described Gallifrey, and there is this theme through this series of longevity and the pain of loss. Also, the slight James Bond comment in the Lazarus experiment and the euphoric look on the Doctor's face in Utopia of the mental link establishing.

II What Came Before  
Beyond the obvious prequel When I Close My Eyes, most of my Doctor Who fiction to date is compatible to create my ‘whoniverse’. As such there are sneaky references to other works.  
~"Ever since she had made progress with her meditation to feel the TARDIS humming, to learn how to fly her, the dreams had started to come.”~ This was first mentioned in Queen of Hearts. Following the events of the Girl in the Fireplace, Rose wants to learn how to fly the TARDIS to look after the Doctor, to keep him safe.  
~"Her numb hand itched to trace along his high cheekbones as he’d once done with her; she loosened her fingers from his that rested over the duvet and her abdomen.”~ This happened in Mirrored Illusions with the Doctor tracing his fingertips and a glass rose across her cheek. It was set as them leaving the flat after Mickey’s departure in Age of Steel, and questioned where Rose wanted to go.  
~"If she’d known about the marks and used the dermal regenerator to heal them it was odd she hadn’t mentioned it"~ In Queen of Hearts Rose uses the dermal regenerator to heal glass wounds from the mirror smashing in GITF but never tells the Doctor.  
~ "Or rather she didn’t as she knew the Doctor had a diary and filled it in while she slept." ~ Again from Queen of Hearts. Rose catches the Doctor sketching Reinette in a five hundred year diary.  
~ “Rose sighed and put it as a signal of her now errant periods, in typical timing that she was sharing a bed with the Doctor.” ~ First mentioned in Queen of Hearts that time travel messes with your menses.  
~ "But the implication of this life that wasn’t and would never be; her Mother wanted grandchildren but that wasn’t going to happen.”~ This was developed in The Generation Game where Jackie gets ideas about her only daughter travelling with two men without prescribed contraceptives.

III The Planet Fun Fair  
“It was just what the Doctor ordered.” Cliché as it sounds going to the planet with the fun fair was the Doctor’s idea to give Rose time to work things through. The fun fair was designed to provide mundane triggers for Rose’s coping. It was also designed as a commentary on the Doctor and Rose’s lifestyle; that they do park, make fantastic noise and explosions and then leave without cleaning up or explaining. The planet doesn’t leave things to chance in restoring itself; they make sure it is restored. Unlike with the Game Station where the Ninth Doctor wrongly assumed Satellite Five would accelerate its development to right the timeline.

IV Home  
The planet has homely elements to both the Doctor and Rose. For Rose it’s the style of the fun fair; a blend of British clowning, marching with an earthier Samba carnival element to suit the climate. Rose has the best aspects of her life here — a reminder of home without incessant questions from her Mother and quality time with the Doctor, so she doesn’t have to choose between the two. For the Doctor he is reminded of Gallifrey with the red soil, orange sky and copper moon visible during the day. I wanted him to remember as I draw on the Time War, its casualties and resultant consequences throughout this series. For the Doctor to bring her here contrasts that she has everything but he doesn’t — just the TARDIS and even that would be lost to him.

V I made my decision a long time ago I was never going to leave you  
Throughout this you see references to how Rose’s life was before she met the Doctor, and most of it carries a negative connotation. Seemingly it doesn’t matter what life holds as long as she can share it with the Doctor.

VI The Doctor’s Bedroom - “The colour suits you.”  
The Doctor’s bedroom doesn’t have a door as it retains a Time Lord discipline. In TIP/TSP ‘mortgage’ conversation he mentions an aversion to doors. I theorise the TARDIS has doors for human convenience as human seems to be his companion species of choice.

Why have I given the Doctor his own bed? Two reasons. First, his people loved ceremony and they had to sleep (albeit scant hours), so sleep probably came with its own rituals. (I say he meditates rather than sleeps which is something Elves do.) Second, his affinity for humans and the thought they put into their beds given how much time they spend asleep. The design of the bed is drawn from the 1996 Doctor Who movie that was highly Victorian and Gothic.

You would not believe how long it took to decide the design of the Doctor’s pyjamas. In the olden days, red was the colour of pain and death, and gold the colour of life. Red was also the colour of the Renegade, the red guardian of justice. The Doctor is the Bringer of Darkness and Destroyer of Worlds (to the Daleks) and following the Time War he probably associates himself with red more than ever. The high collar and embroidered hems is a simplification of the Prydonian chapter ceremonial robes seen in the Fourth Doctor era. The pair of silver leafed trees are the symbol of the Prydonian chapter.

Incidentally, the Doctor’s choice of brown shirt and black plimsolls is seen in the Impossible Planet/Satan Pit. I regard these episodes as the peak of their on-screen intimacy. Him asking about his clothes is the Doctor opening up a little, given how fierce he is about his dress style and also follows on from the Doctor choosing her pyjamas.

VII Rose’s TARDIS key  
It is complete fanon that Rose wears her TARDIS key around her neck. If you see the early promotional shots the chain is quite short, just about big enough to slide over a human head. Virtually every single photo I’ve seen of Rose has a low cut top and there is no sign of a necklace of any sort, so she doesn’t wear it here. Not unless the chain has quadrupled in length and it sits around the outside of her breasts with the key above her navel! Both times we see Rose produce the key (to show Mickey in Aliens of London, to give to Adam in The Long Game) it’s from her jean pocket.

Having decided in this she would wear it around her neck, I feel I have to justify why it doesn’t have a clasp. Picture it, you’re running towards the TARDIS being chased by nasty beings. Upon reaching the blue doors you fiddle with the clasp to get it undone, by which point you’ve been beaten and eaten. Ideally it’s at a length where you don’t even have to remove it from your neck - just pick the key off your chest, bend a bit and hey presto safe in the TARDIS.

Yes, I do think about things to this extent. I do have a life. I just left it in the TARDIS.

VIII Are They? Aren’t They?  
Rose and the Doctor come from very different cultures. Twentieth century Britons see sex as a step to deepen a relationship, whereas the Doctor’s culture is an asexual one — there is no drive or great importance to partnersex. Gallifreyan’s take mental connections as the norm (surface thought reading as a customary greeting gesture), but it’s unnerving to a human that someone wants to read your mind and be amongst your private thoughts. There’s a bit of social commentary here (Doctor Who is good at that) that our culture won’t be naked in front of someone unless they have had sex, or even share a bed. There are communication failures between the Doctor and Rose — they always question if one wants the other to stay (CIN: do you want to go home?/do you want me to?) and perhaps commitment issues too (Doomsday: Rose says ‘forever’ but the Doctor still sends her away).

They both have social conditioning for conscious actions to become closer to another person, but neither of them seems to realise that they are in love. They don’t want the other person to be in pain, which is why Rose doesn’t push too hard for information about the War, and why the Doctor conceals the evidence of Bad Wolf (ripped trousers, Jack’s condition). They already have an emotional connection that was unplanned and perhaps unexpected, and the Doctor particularly doesn’t know what to do about it. Rose helped the Doctor reconnect to his emotions after the war, but this depth of love is seemingly alien to him. I believe that the Doctor loves everything and everyone who comes on board the TARDIS and will continue to do so. But I argue that Rose was the first time he was in love. He wants to learn about it, for Rose to teach him, despite it going against virtually all his upbringing and Time Lord training. It calls into question what it is to be the (supposed) last of the Time Lords. This was my tangent for the Doctor thinking ‘if she stayed’.

IX The Time War Ends  
~“Rose had done something the Doctor couldn’t. It wasn’t that she saved the day when all else failed. “Rose, look at me,” he pleaded firmly. He had the answers but not the immorality; blamed himself for everything he could when she’d done something he would normally stop.”~ It’s only the audience that is aware that the Doctor played an integral part in destroying his people and the Daleks up until TIP/TSP. It’s the Beast who tells Rose, “killer of his own kind.” Rose seems shocked at the news which makes me question if she knew prior. ‘Hi, I murdered all my people,’ doesn’t strike me as something the Doctor would volunteer. 

X Rose’s Dreams  
Rose’s dream sequences were fun, as the imagery you can play with in dream states of someone who is remembering being a Goddess is a fantastic creative writing opportunity. I’m very grateful for the feedback that said I made smooth transitions between the mundane, the extraordinary events of the game station and the goddess power in the dream state. Who would have thought it to transit between volcanoes, phoenixes and matching pyjamas!

With the Doctor’s guidance, the first night (WICME) Rose remembers the bare minimum of the events of the Game Station to compile a ‘missing scene’ (looked into the TARDIS, destroyed the Daleks, and gave up power with kiss that caused the regeneration). The second night acts as a springboard for Eyes Open that Rose remembered more on her own. After the second night, the order Rose remembers things in is reverse to how they happened on the Game Station:  
(2nd ~Burned ember reignited = Giving Jack life)  
3rd ~ All that could be = All that is... all that was... all that ever could be  
4th ~ Sun and Moon singing = The sun and the moon... the day and night  
5th ~ I bring life = Giving Jack life

XI The Bad Wolf Connection  
I didn’t decide until quite late that their mental union was the result of Bad Wolf. Initially I theorised that the connection from waking her memories would be more persistent than with Reinette as the Doctor and Rose are closer. Bad Wolf did three things — create life, bring Rose and the Doctor together and protect those involved (I question if a Time War can ever end if Time itself persists. Neither the Daleks nor the Doctor seem like dying anytime soon). The pregnancy (discussed below) was probably the first thought I had during this fic’s conception. The Doctor and Rose are already physically together (in time and space) so Bad Wolf came to unite them mentally too. Originally Bad Wolf protected the Universe from the Daleks and creation being devastated, but here it continues to protect Rose from the consequences of embodying the Vortex. You could argue that the Bad Wolf brought death, too, and the fic realises this with the miscarriage.

XII Remembering Jack  
Rose asking about Jack shouldn’t have been a big surprise. As a reader you already know the events of the Game Station (if familiar with the fandom) but it wasn’t a random question on Rose’s part. He was mentioned early on when she went to the waterfall spa, dreamed about him and had the Doctor mention him. It makes sense she thought about him during this series as the Game Station was the last time they were together.

“I’m not Jack’s father.” ~ This initially was followed by, “I don’t think. He had a bit of an Oedipus complex if I am.” But it detracted from the flow of the paragraph and tone of the conversation.

Regarding canon, I would have been very surprised if the Doctor didn't know Jack is alive. I mean, Rose as a Goddess says, “I bring life.” — 3 to 1 odds who she is referring to and Lynda with a ‘Y’ doesn’t count!

This will be added to once I post the version of the 'Protection' chapter that is canon compliant to Utopia.

XIII Rose’s Pregnancy  
First things first, OMG I committed babyfic! The initial inklings of Rose remembering Jack’s fete hung on the words, “I bring life,” and a phantom pregnancy jumped out at me — it’s women who are deemed life creators (really they only sustain life above men).

Pregnancies are huge responsibilities. Most women from England in their early 20s (like Rose) are not contemplating starting a family, (and not with someone much older without a stable lifestyle and other commitments). It acted as a stepping stone to appreciate the responsibilities and consequences of the events of the Game Station.

Cunningly disguised or dismissed as other things, Rose’s Pregnancy — A Trainspotter’s Guide.

Throughout there is tiredness, early nights and late mornings. Rose isn’t a morning person anyway and her tiredness is blamed on not sleeping with the nightmares.

Chapter Two  
The opening dream sequence is the conception point.  
~“Unfulfilled, Rose’s hands disappeared below the covers to retrace her line more intimately but winced. Something real had disjointed her dreaming events and she sighed in frustration, turning to her side facing away from him.”~ It’s a bad idea to apply pressure to your abdomen when you’re pregnant.

Chapter Three  
~“No wonder her back was stiff, her bladder pressed and her stomach complaining at being empty for so long without adrenaline keeping it shut.”~ Hormones creating more water plus your pelvic muscles shifting to accommodate an expanding womb.  
“Rose began organising her lunch, lacing sweet and savoury fillings in a bread wrap. She caught the Doctor giving her food combination a faint look of disgust”~ Strange food cravings.  
~“She mentally berated herself for crying so much; it wasn’t like her and it saddened the Doctor to see her upset, and she didn’t want to add to his troubles.”~ Mood swings.  
~“It harnesses the energy of the earth with that of the sun; it draws the spirit out and grounds it. It boosts physical energy, self confidence and when it sits over your heart chakra it balances those below it, especially reproduction.”~ 

Chapter Four  
~“Her heart beat and breathing were rapid underneath her hand which seemed to accelerate the pain gathering in her breastbone as she rolled onto her back.”~ Your chest and breasts become tender.  
~“But one thing was very clear, she either had lost a lot of weight or her breasts were swollen.”~ Swollen breasts again.  
~“ Rose threw her hands up in surrender but retained a smile, “just some tea and toast, nothing too heavy.”~ Loss of morning appetite/food sensitivities.  
~“There she saw some grey tracksuit bottoms and a loose, high neck red jumper, perfect comfort for how tender her skin felt.”~ Bloating.  
~“On the way round she caught glimpse of their changing figures, exaggerating her breasts, hips and the Doctor’s head; she was having a bad hair day and her pendant swam into view.”~ The change in body shape.  
~“The world continued to spin when she returned to being upright.”~ Dizziness/light headedness.  
~“I’m not bearing all during a call of nature for whomever to come and look at my rosy cheeks.”~ Frequent urination, the urge to go.  
~The dream sequence at the end of chapter four.

Chapter Five  
~“Rose shoved the Doctor off her as she staggered to be upright and ran, trying not to redecorate the TARDIS corridors with the contents of her stomach on her way to the bathrooms.”~ Morning sickness

XIV Singing  
I listened to the Doctor Who soundtrack a lot when writing this. There was going to be a mention of “Rose’s theme” in this, that Rose plays the piano and sings (she took music at GSCE). Following the revelation that the Doctor can sing, she was going to ask him to join in, for them to evolve ‘the Doctor and Rose’s theme’ to show how they are getting closer. On TV we first hear the Doomsday music when Rose first steps into the TARDIS and then again when they are separated by the void. To me this song contains all the elements of the Doctor and Rose partnership, but they only become harmonised in the Impossible Planet/Satan Pit music. However, it was pointless bogging the story down with unnecessary detail, so hopefully it will be appearing in another story.

XV Strangest Thing — George Michael  
This song seemed to be subliminal integration.

“Take my life / Time has been wishing the knife” — Somebody had to die at the Game Station and Bad Wolf was a predestination paradox  
“I don’t recognise / People I care for” — The Regeneration plus the Doctor being in her head and leaving Jack behind

“Take my dreams / Childish and weak at the seams” — Rose dreams of sex with the Doctor, whereas the Doctor dreams of a mental union and that he doesn’t have to be lonely  
“Please don’t analyse / Please just be there for me” — They have an understanding and intuition that things don’t have to be justified to the extreme

“The things that I know / Nobody told me” — The Doctor knew that Jack was alive, and Rose figures a lot out on her own during this. They are the odd couple and have learned life lessons that most people will never contemplate.  
“The seeds that are sown / They still control me” — The Bad Wolf persists

“There’s a liar in my head” — The Doctor has lied to her (I sang a song and the Daleks ran away — Parting of the Ways)  
“There’s a thief upon my bed” — We don’t know if the Doctor read Rose’s diary  
“And the strangest thing / Is I cannot get my eyes open” — Rose was suffering ‘waking dreams’ during this

“Take my hand / Lead me to some peaceful end” — Hand holding is a great comfort and security to both of them  
“That I cannot find / Inside my head” — Rose is having nightmares, the Doctor is as well

“Wake me with love” — He sings to her to heal her, he’s always there with her when she wakes up  
“[Love is] all I need / But in all this time / Still no one said...” — In a way they are constrained by social expectations of what couples should do, when it’s evident that they love each other (to the audience at least) and how they interact is how they express it but they themselves haven’t realised it

“Give me something I can hold” — (You need a hand to hold — Fear Her)  
“Give me something to believe in / I am frightened for my soul / Please, please” — There’s so much death and destruction in the Universe that she can be responsible for but Rose doesn’t want to leave this life and a lot of ‘outsiders’ (Queen Victoria, Elton) that their lifestyle is doomed. (The Doctor keeps on fighting because of Rose — Shakespeare Code)  
“Make love to me, send love through me / Heal me with your crime” — The Doctor lost a lot of his guilt burden over the Time War when he became Ten, and it was wrong for Rose to embody the Vortex. He saved her because she was his world  
“The only one who ever knew me” — Rose can now empathise with the Doctor’s past actions, possibly the only companion to do so  
“We’ve wasted so much time / So much time” — By the time the Doctor lets his guard down to let Rose in more (possibly during TIL at the prospect of losing her) it’s bittersweet as she is mortal and he’s not


End file.
